Like A Boss

I have been told many, many times in my life that I am bossy.  I've been told I can be "difficult".  I am "tough as nails".  I can be "challenging to work with".  Does this make me feel belittled?  Inferior?  Like less of a leader?  Does it make me want to #BanBossy?

Hell no.

Yes, I am bossy.  I am also the boss.  I get things done.  Yes, I'll tell you what to do - "boss you around", some might say - but only after I've cracked the whip on myself.  Can I be difficult, challenging, & tough?  Damn right.  I am those things because I am passionate.  I am strong.  I care.  And you know that I am not asking/telling you to do anything that I wouldn't/couldn't/haven't done myself.  I'm with you in the trenches.  I get my hands dirty.  I am bossy and gutsy when the situation calls for it.  And proud of it. 

There will be no banning of bossy of my household.  I will not be offended or threatened by this word, nor do I think we should teach our kids that they should be either. Take bossy - along with ambitious, assertive, tough, challenging - and feel empowered by them.  Own them.  We can teach our children - all of the children as these are not gender-specific words - that they do not need to react defensively to any of these labels.  Instead, we can feel pride that we are kind of people that make things happen.  We have guts & strength.  We are passionate.  We care.  We can be proud when we are referred to as bossy.  

We can teach our kids that Bossy one day becomes The Boss.  And The Boss Runs The Show.  

It's Your Day - A Woman's Day.

Today is International Women's Day.  Nasdarovje*!

I first became aware of International Women's Day, oh, maybe 5 years ago.  Our close friends, Maura & Gabe, having been in the Peace Corp in Ukraine where Women's Day is an actual national holiday, brought the celebration back to us here in Seattle.  They would host a party, they said.  We were to arrive at 3pm. We were instructed to bring a bottle (or two) of vodka, and we were given specific Ukrainian dishes to make & bring to share.  (Aside:  I was, until this party, a beet virgin.  Beets stain things, friends. They stain everything.  End of aside.)

When one arrives at an International Women's Day party, one notices that all of the regular furniture that belongs in the host's living room is absent.  Instead, it is replaced with long family-style tables and chairs. The tables are lined with bottles of vodka and overflowing bowls of food wherein potatoes and pickled vegetables are in abundance.  Everyone is smiling and laughing and hugging and talking.  Find your seat, friends, because the celebration is about to begin!  Nasdarovje!

It's International Women's Day**, and it's a day to celebrate the women in our lives, the women we love, the women who have changed us, the women who have made us who we are, the women we can't imagine our lives without, the women who inspire us, the women who give us hope, the women who have sacrificed for us.  It is a day for all women:  mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers, wives, and girlfriends.

We all take our seats at the table, and there is a buzz in the air.  Someone stands, raises his glass, and proposes a toast to the beauty & loveliness of all of the women in the room.  Definitely a toast I can get behind.  Nasdarovje!  We all clink, drink, and the celebration is officially underway.

This Women's Day party is truly a Thanksgiving.  Strangers are now family, bonded over our common love of women.  And vodka.  The food is never-ending.  "Just keep eating," Maura encourages us.  We all take turns standing & offering our toasts to all of the world's wonderful women.  The celebration continues into the night.  We're dancing and laughing and the toasts begin to get a little blurry.

The next morning I wake up with beet-stained fingers, glitter in my bed, and a deep gratitude for all of the strong, courageous, wise, patient, generous, beautiful women in my life, both near & far.

Today is International Women's Day.  I think a celebration is in order.
Here's to you, ladies.  Nasdarovje.

*I do not know if this is the correct spelling.  The internet offers many options.

**Please note, International Women's Day has a long history, and I am not trying to discount that by leaving it out of this post.  This is simply how Women's Day was introduced to me, and this is what it means to me.

***Maura's original caption to this picture was, "Tim, it's Women's Day! Give her that beer! And for that matter, give her your hat too!"

Socially Inclined Gratitude

Something I truly love about the holiday season is the outpouring of love and appreciation that comes along with it.  I love that, as we deck the halls & trim the trees & jingle the bells, we also reflect on all of the things that make us thankful.  'Tis the season for gratitude.

With that in mind, I am about just going to go ahead and say it.  I am thankful for social media.  

Go ahead, laugh.  Provide me with links to all of the articles condemning social for being a time suck or for offering us a distorted view of our "friends'" lives or how a woman, so distracted by Facebook, fell into the ocean.*  Tell me I'm trivial.  Go ahead.  But I stand by my social praise.

Of course, there's the obvious reason for my devotion:  social puts food on my table & clothes on my back (thanks, Microsoft!). But my benediction does not stop there.  

Thank you, social media, for reconnecting me with old friends & distanced relationships.  Without you, it's very unlikely that we would have mended those fences, cleared up those misunderstandings, and received friendships do-overs.  

Thank you for the visual showcase of my friends' and family member's lives.  My heart is full when I see my feeds full of photos of weddings and births, of smiling children going back to school and sitting on Santa's lap.  My twinge of jealousy is more nice than naughty as I read their travel blogs and peek in on their far-away adventures.  Their gratuitous food porn not only makes my stomach rumble, but also makes me a better cook and more well-versed in Seattle-area restaurants.  The bikini pics & Nike running apps inspire me to put down my bagel & get my ass to yoga - an ass, I might mention, made by said improved cooking & dining.  And when my entire Facebook feed of profile pics turns red in support of equal rights, I am moved to tears.  

Thank you, social, for connecting me with family members, those separated from me in age & distance, and giving us a place to get to know each other - and their spouses and children too.    

Thank you for providing me with a home for this blog.  Because of the readership and positive feedback I have garnered through social, I am inspired to continue to write.  

Thank you for being a place where we can find new jobs, solicit parenthood advice from a network of experts, share music, books and culture, celebrate births, grieve deaths, engage with colleagues, re-meet long lost friends, stay in touch with far away loved ones, receive support and champion others, and share inspiration and gratitude.   

And thank you, my friends, my communities, my networks, for allowing me to be a part of your lives. It's a privilege for which I'm deeply grateful.   

*Public Service Announcement:  This is a true story.  Please don't Facebook near ledges.  

Wanderlust

We are leaving for Hawaii on Friday, and while I'm unbelievably excited & grateful to be taking this trip with Tim & Boo, I can't help feeling a little nostalgic for the old days of travel.  The days where the goal of visiting all 7 continents before age 40 was actually within reach.  We haven't left the country, in, what, 5 years?  (Oh my god, can that really be true?)  No wonder I'm becoming all numb and ethnocentric and "U-S-A!" like. 

Yes, I am still a travel snob at heart.

I need culture.  I need menus that aren't in English.  I need walking all around a new city, miles and miles, just because it's fun or I'm lost.  I need mispronouncing words to the locals and being laughed at by food truck workers.  I need beaches and mountains and smoggy cities.  I need dogs running around in places they most certainly should not be running.  I need museums and monuments and all of the wonders of the world.  I need hanging on so tight to my purse so a guy on a moto doesn't snatch it off me.  I need rickshaw drivers taking me to shady sex shows that I (probably) did not request. I need color and vibrance.  I need sketchy, but oh-so-delicious street food and questionable "burgers".  I need boarding passes and carry-ons.  I need sleep deprivation and jet lag.  I need dirty hair and dirty clothes and a make-up-free face.  I need drinking local beer and eating lobster with my hands on the beach.  I need dancing and hiking and bungy-jumping and cliff-diving and tandem-biking and glacier-walking and zip-lining and thrill-seeking and adreneline-running.  I need to be that person I am when I travel all of the time.

I need to go away. Now.