Knowing Who You Are -- As a Couple

Two weeks ago, I was quietly attending to household chores while my husband was out of town. All the Colbert pets were sleeping and the only sound in the house was the gentle humming of the furnace fan, doing its 24/7 work of cleaning our air through its allergen filters.

I was washing dishes, slowly and deliberately. Not in the rushed way that tends to be my style -- but peacefully and in absolutely no hurry. I was taking the time to enjoy the feel of the warm water, the surprise when a soap bubble escaped the sink and went floating into the living room, the sound of the water running across ceramic and glass and silver.

Our kitchen sink has the most beautiful view. It abuts a v-shaped breakfast bar so the washer of dishes can see the entire heart of the house -- the living room with its cushy couches and curio cabinets, the breakfast nook with its windows facing the pond, the hallway leading to my office with its welcoming French doors, and just a hint of the family room with its afternoon sunshine and the piano that has belonged to my family for generations.

I have no idea how many minutes I spent washing those dishes -- those special or pesky items that don't go into the Whirlpool dishwasher. What I do know is that while I was accomplishing my task, I enjoyed a special kind of meditation. I let my eyes ponder each detail within view, remembering its significance. Every wall in our house has a story and, next year -- there will be more stories yet.

Robert and I built this home together in 2007. And it was a labor of love. Visitors see drywall and furniture and artwork. But I see collaboration, and adventure, and passion. I see the colonial white trim around the powder room door, knowing that beneath it is a 2x4 piece of lumber with Sharpie marker handwriting -- announcing the date upon which our house passed its electrical inspection. I see the ceiling fan that was hung with care by Robert and my cousin Paul. I see the ceramic tiles that create the fireplace face, and that were selected by my sister-in-law, who served as our interior designer. I see wall colors inspired by our love of vineyards and our desire to visit Napa (which we did -- on our first anniversary). I see all the decisions and musings that made this house possible. I see two people who believed that building a home together could be the beginning of their life's story.

Until very recently, I thought the expression "our life's work" referred to a person's career or their avocations or the volunteer work about which they are so passionate. I would have told you that my life's work involves helping other people (and organizations) advance their missions through the strategic use of words and other communications tools. But that's not my life's work. It's my career's work -- which is just part of my life. This house -- and what it stands for -- is "OUR" life's work. The combined efforts of my husband and me. And a marriage is not just the merging of two people's interests -- it's the creation of something that isn't possible without the two of you together. It is greater than the sum of its parts.

I've been married twice, and have had a colorful dating history. I've loved well and deeply. I have chosen mates who taught me much. But I've never before shared my life with someone who made me understand that being in a relationship should have a purpose. (And I've never been ready to learn that lesson until recently.) Beyond the abeyance of loneliness, the creation of excitement, or the strategic merger of two bank accounts, a relationship should hope to serve the world in some way.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I've never thought about this. I always thought a relationship was simply about falling in love. I'm even more embarrassed to admit that what got me thinking about it was a recent interview on Oprah with Will and Jada Smith. They suggested that a marriage should have a mission and vision -- just like a business. It should have a reason for being.

Hmm. That just makes good sense. So what's the master plan for my marriage? In the end, it's pretty simple. Robert and I have joined our lives so that we can create peace. So that we can share a gentle energy with others in a way that makes us -- and the people around us -- feel good. We've promised to help each other eradicate drama and anxiety. And we renew our dedication to this every day. It means our house is typically very quiet. That it's filled with books and comfortable napping spots.

How will we know if we've achieved our goal? Pretty simply, I think. We'll know we've accomplished much if children (nieces, nephews, neighbors and friends) are happy in our home. If visitors sleep deeply and at length in our guest bedroom. If the hours around a backyard fire are less about the s'mores than they are about losing track of obligations and anxieties, and enjoying the pure music of a loved one's laughter as it floats over the pond and disappears into the trees after sunset. If holiday traditions are created and kept within these walls. If visitors, too, can get lost in the sound of the furnace fan or find themselves mesmerized by soap bubbles floating over the sink and popping on their journey toward the sun-soaked living room.

Little bitty lesson: Being lazy is painful

Yesterday, I went to the spa (courtesy of my husband) for a 90-minute massage. By all accounts, it should have been a luxurious way to spend an afternoon. But, alas, it was torture.

Why? Because it had been three months since my previous visit to the massage therapist and my muscles were in need of some serious untangling. Yes, I admit it -- despite the aromatherapy and the relaxing music, there was agony. I teared up and gritted my teeth.

When I got home, I was thinking about what the lesson had been in that experience. For some people, it would have been "don't go to the spa again." But I'm smart enough to know that Shelbie at Arvasi is talented beyond imagination, and that her knowledge of the muscles makes her like a human MRI, seeking out the damaged and injured spots and giving them the attention they need.

The lesson yesterday was two-fold. 1: Don't wait 3 months between appointments. (I have piriformis syndrome, which means my legs require special attention if I want to live a tolerable life.) And 2: Being lazy is painful.

My muscles don't get tangled and injured because I'm running marathons or doing too much pilates. I'm a mess because I never move. My average day consists of 2 hours in the car, 10 hours (or more) in front of a computer or at a conference table, an hour or so puttering around the house doing chores and cooking, a couple of hours sitting on the couch talking to my husband or watching TV, and another 8 hours sleeping. And maybe once a day, I'll think to reach my arms over my head for a good stretch. Wow -- the very definition of sedentary. Is it any wonder that the muscles in my back and hips are all out of whack?

Being lazy isn't luxurious -- it's painful. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not lazy in the way I use my mental energy for my career. Shelbie never needs to squeeze lactic acid out of my gray matter. But my body is paying the price of "all work, no play." I need to move. Any suggestions for how to get started?

Learning to cherish the little things...

My husband Robert makes the perfect s'more. Two divinely toasted marshmallows -- their outsides patiently warmed to a sugary light brown candy crust, their insides warm and gooey in just the perfect way. He places them atop three little sections of Hershey's milk chocolate and sandwiches it all between two gluten-free graham crackers, serving it up on a dessert plate.

Sometimes, it's the little things that pleasantly startle us back into consciousness -- into appreciating our lives and all its wonders. I can't toast a marshmallow; I burn them. It's not that I'm not patient enough (though that's part of it); it's that I don't have depth perception, so I either get too close to the fire (and set my shmallows ablaze) or stay too far away (and get frustrated when they are still cool and raw five minutes later). So, for the perfect s'more, I need Robert.

I don't suspect that Robert knows how much I love it when he makes me a s'more (over a fire pit in the backyard or, more commonly, over the flame of our kitchen stove). To him, it's probably just a little cooking task. But for me, it's pure love. He's patient and attentive in his work, and the end product isn't just a yummy dessert. It take me back to childhood, remembering Girl Scout campfires. It's a warm, gooey treat that I get to eat with my hands. And it's somehow more enjoyable than any fancy flourless chocolate cake that could be served up by an accomplished pastry chef at a Zagat-rated restuarant.

It's Memorial Day weekend, and I've decided to take time to cherish all the little things. Here's just a sampling of the things that have brought me wonder and delight these past two days:

• An impromptu lunch with an old friend yesterday


• Organizing my piles of paperwork at the office and leaving with a sense of accomplishment


• Petting my dogs this morning, whose fur was warmed by the sunshine coming through the windows


• A pleasant 30-second interaction yesterday with a man in line at Target, who dropped a penny that I retrieved from under my cart


• The realization when I woke this morning that there will be one more day off before the work week begins


• Musing about something cute to wear to a family picnic this afternoon


• Making plans to attend a Memorial Day service at the Kenosha Harbor tomorrow -- a little gesture for the huge sacrifices that have been made in the name of freedom

You might not like s'mores, but I'm guessing there is something small and pure and sweet that reminds you how to live in the moment. I encourage you to find it, and build it back into your life, deliberately and with zeal. What little thing will you appreciate today?

Little bitty lesson: Dating isn't for single people

For those of us who are married, the word "dating" brings up all kinds of memories, horror stories, laughs, the rolling of eyes, and maybe even regrets. I catch myself sometimes saying "I'm so glad I don't have to date anymore!" And I think that sentiment of disdain comes from the stress that came from seeking and not finding, and of trying to put my best foot forward without being disingenuous. It's hard enough in this life to answer the question "Who am I?" But to add that identity crisis to "Who am I when I am with this other person?" makes life sometimes impossibly challenging.

Kissing frogs became tiring and I'd all but given up by the time I went on that one date that changed my life -- the night I met Robert.

Tonight, 19 months after our wedding day, Robert and I are going on a date. I bought a new dress, and we're going to a wonderful restaurant, and we'll be cuddling up at home later on to watch a funny movie. Dating is more fun when you're married -- it's less stressful, more controllable, and infinitely more meaningful.

If you're in love with someone -- perhaps someone you married 20 years ago -- I urge you not to think of "dating" as something that precedes and then ends with marriage. Take your spouse out on a date tonight. And do it again next week. Dating, in its most beautiful incarnation, isn't really for single people at all. It's for those of us who already know the warmth of holding each other's hands. And it's for those who know that a "date" isn't about a day, or a season. It's about a lifetime.

Little bitty lessons: Bite-sized blog posts

There are two kinds of blogs that I really value: Long blogs and short blogs. I've always been drawn to the long, languid blogs -- the ones that are deep and thoughtful musings about large issues, with multiple links and anecodotes. These are the kinds of blogs I like to read on a Sunday afternoon, and to talk about with my friends. When I started blogging, this is the kind of blog series I wanted to write.

But there is also another great blogging strategy -- short and sweet. I like those kinds of blogs too. Like Seth Godin's blog, which is usually no more than two or three paragraphs of insight (but is occasionally indulgent).

So I've decided to have my cake (gluten-free, of course) and eat it too. Once a week, I'll post a longer piece -- the kind you've come to expect from me; those pieces will always have titles that start with "Learning to ..." On a more frequent basis, I'll post bite-sized blog posts, and will call those "Little bitty lessons."

Today's little bitty lesson?

Cake is not just dessert. It's family, and hospitality, and love.

Yesterday, my husband baked a two-layer yellow cake with fudge frosting. It made me feel loved. And for those of us who don't eat gluten, this is a special treat thanks to companies like Betty Crocker. But beyond the sugar rush I enjoyed, I realized that cake has a special power. The beauty of it, on display under a classic glass dome, perched on top of our kitchen island, inspires many things. It made me want to be a better neighbor, and to clean the rest of the kitchen to rise to the occasion. And it made me breathe more deeply today, in hopes to catch another waft of that heavenly, buttery smell in the air.

I had two friends visit today, and I offered them both cake. They happily obliged my hospitality. My second visitor stopped by unexpectedly, so I felt particularly pleased with myself for being ready to welcome her with home-baked goodness.

This past December, my grandmother passed away. She always had a cookie jar (appropriately shaped like a big smiley face), brimming with treats for her visitors. And while I don't know if I'll ever be someone's grandmother, I hope to bring that same kind of simple joy to others.

Grandma had a cookie jar and I have a cake dome. And those simple gestures could quite possibly make the world a better place.

Learning to be joyful...

What makes you joyful?

This is a question that stumps me. I recently sat down to make a list of the things that infuse me with joy, and I found myself staring at a blank sheet of paper for longer than I'd like to admit. Perhaps it's because I've been so busy amassing education, climbing the corporate ladder and living the "American dream" (i.e., building a house, planning a wedding, planting a lilac bush), that all of my plans and activities started crowding out the thing that makes life worth living -- joy.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not an unhappy person. I love my husband, and I get great satisfaction out of my job, and I live in a nice house. There's not an overwhelming amount of drama surrounding my family or friends, and most of the crying I do has more to do with sappy movies or heart-wrenching books than it does with personal suffering or despair. So why am I not more joyful?

Back to Basics

I think true, unabashed joy is what makes us giggle with abandon, jump up and down, want to high-five someone, and smile or laugh until it hurts. Spend a day observing young children, and you'll see what joy is all about. It's been said that children laugh, on average, more than 300 times per day. Adults, on the other hand, laugh about 15 times per day. How is it that age has made us so cynical and conditional about how we feel and share our joy?

Don't we deserve to be joyful more often? I certainly think so.

Eventually, I wrote down a few things on that blank piece of paper. Here's what I came up with:

1. Puppies [little, roly-poly puppies that are hopping around the yard or the living room like bunnies, yawning with that innocent little squeaky noise they make, or licking your face with abandon]


2. Singing -- usually loudly and badly, to joyful songs like Paolo Nutini's New Shoes; sometimes, this kind of singing is accompanied by silly dancing in my kitchen


3. Writing [but not all writing, mind you -- business writing can be satisfying, but writing for ME, whether it's a blog post, a poem, an essay or a short story, is what makes me joyful]


4. Being tickled


5. Deep laughter [the kind that happens when I hang out with my childhood friend, Michelle, or when I go to a comedy club]


6. Little surprises [like coming home to discover my husband has made my favorite dinner, or winning a few dollars on a scratch-off lottery ticket]


7. Exhilarating accomplishment [like reaching a mountain summit after a long hike, or crossing the finish line of a race]


8. Teaching [go figure -- little miss "No Book, No Classroom" is happiest in the classroom

A Strategy for Joy

So I've decided that, in addition to my strategies for my career, my financial investments, etc., I'm going to craft a strategy for joy. Here's what my initial draft includes:

• More puppies. Because my shelties are now more than a year old, and it's not practical to get a new puppy each time the last one loses her "puppy breath," -- which reminds me of some women I know, who get pregnant every time their most recent baby abandons his pacifier -- I'm going to do things to keep my dogs young (like training them for agility competition), and maybe I'll volunteer at a veterinary hospital too.


• More singing. My new iPod will help in this endeavor. And if you ever see me driving on I-94, I hope the sillyness of me belting out a song behind my windshield makes you joyful too.


• More time with friends, more pillow fights, and more trips to Zanies. (I have a colleague who recently started performing stand-up comedy, but I think I'd be happier in the audience.)


• More exhilaration. We're planning a summer vacation, and I think I'd like to go back to New Hampshire's beautiful White Mountains, to climb again. And it's about time that I started training for another stair marathon. Hustle Up the Hancock, anyone?


• More teaching. I love my job as a marketing director -- it's enjoyable and a good application of my talents and experience. But I'd like to balance my day job with more time in the classroom. Last week, I had the opportunity to teach a business communications seminar for a group of employees at WMS Gaming. They were fantastic participants -- full of great suggestions and questions, and willing to be vulnerable and playful as we learned together. I left the training room and did something I don't do often enough -- I high-fived my colleague from the Corporate Education division of Lake Forest Graduate School of Management.

You Deserve More

You, too, deserve more joy in your life. More giggles and more high-fives. And more dancing in your kitchen. Take a few minutes to make your Joyful List, and get working on a strategy for seeking more joy. Not next month or next year or when you retire. More joy, right now. And I have a funny feeling that the more you focus on your own joy, the more your friends and loved ones will feel joyful too.

Learning to love your FICO score...

All these years after studying algebra in high school (and swearing I'd never use it), I still remember how to solve for X if 3X=2(y-1). And you guessed it -- I never use that precious, hard-won skill.

So, with all due respect to great (and patient and well-meaning) math teachers in high school and undergrad, I simply can't be the only person who is appalled that the U.S. school systems aren't teaching young people the quantitative lessons they truly need -- like now to calculate simple interest (ala your Bank of America card), how to create a realistic household budget, how to appreciate the incremental costs of a wedding if you invite your best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend (and if you have a cake and a dessert station), or how to save hundreds of thousands of dollars in unnecessary interest charges by making extra principal payments on your mortgage.

I've learned all of these lessons the hard way, and my mistakes have been many. But I'm hopeful that our younger generations might actually take a cue from the struggles of their parents, and that educators might start building curricula that include practical lessons for financial responsibility. One can at least hope.

Hey, baby. What's your...FICO score?

If you are a parent, I beg of you to teach your children just one lesson about dating and choosing a life partner. Forget astrological signs, and focus on character traits that you can take to the bank. I am far less interested in the fact that my husband is a Virgo (mutable, social, earthy -- whatever the heck that means!) than I am in his credit score and his retirement planning strategy. (And, yes, I did ask to see his credit report about three months into our relationship.)

To be fair, an approach to dating that is this pragmatic is bound to send some suitors packing. And good riddance to them! These days, most couples -- and I don't think this is an exaggeration -- are less scrupulous about who they have sex with than they are about who they would bare their bank account and credit report to.

Why is that? I think it's because so many of us never got "the talk" that really mattered. Sure, we heard some awkward explanations about the birds and the bees, but most of us never got schooled in the virtues of protecting our financial health. We learned about HIV, but not about bankruptcy. We might have learned how to balance a check book, but we didn't learn about 401(k) plans until after our first employers asked us to make elections (and we all went "um, what...?"). We didn't learn about credit card debt until our college years. And we didn't learn about the pros and cons of renting vs. owning a home until we'd fallen in love with the most adorable little condo near the lake.

Shame on us. And shame on the parents and teachers who should have prepared us for the financial realities that awaited us.

Silver Lining

This past year might go down in history as "The Great Recession, " but for those who were really paying attention, it was "the great education." It was the wake-up call that so many of us needed. It reminded us that credit card interest rates can go from 2.9% to 29% without warning; that good, highly educated, well-paid people can and do lose their jobs; that dream homes can lose equity (ours lost $50,000 in value this past year!); that not having a down payment for a car might now mean that you're taking the bus; and that your greatest defense against the disintegration of your marriage might be a healthy, honest, conservative financial plan that you both share.

So, I'm glad that this past year happened. It put irresponsible companies out of business. And it got Americans to slow down their spending and start putting their pennies in their savings accounts. It got me and my husband really talking about priorities and investments (and spending more quality time together, and less time and money at concerts and events where we can't even hear each other speaking).

With luck, there are great days ahead for all of us. Here are my financial tips for 2010:


1. Learn about the new FICO scoring system. Our days of ignorance are over.


2. Run your credit report (and your spouse's or future spouse's). Sit down together with a highlighter and a pen, and get honest with where you've been and where you're headed. Focus less on being ashamed of the mistakes you've already made, and more on the lessons that will take you forward.


3. Make a household budget. It doesn't have to be complicated. But it does need to have steadfast rules, timebound goals, and realistic parameters.


4. If you're a teacher -- especially a math, economics, accounting or finance teacher -- remember that the lessons you teach will change lives.


5. And if you're a parent, I beseech you... While you might think that giving your 14-year-old an iPhone with unlimited internet access and a texting plan makes you the "cool" mom or dad, doing so without making them responsible for part or all of the bill that they incur is -- I promise you -- going to backfire on you. Picture that teenager, 15 years from now, living in your basement still and making excuses for why the bank won't loan her the money for a decent car and for why the government is chasing her for her delinquent payments on her student loans.

Hell, I don't have an iPhone -- or even a knock-off -- with a data plan. Would I like one? Sure! Does it fit into my budget? Nope.

When it comes to wealth, I'm not a believer in winning the lottery or "marrying rich." Your financial destiny isn't destiny at all -- it's the result of applying the street smarts you'll probably need to pick up on your own. Because none of your teachers thought you needed a roof over your head as badly as you needed to take that foreign exchange trip to Paris.

**sigh**