Beginnings & Endings

Sometimes When Things Go Against Your Plans, Hopes and Expectations it Can Be Awesome!

by Leave a Comment

Have you ever found yourself in a different country, by accident? I have. The country was Portugal. 

In August of 2000 I planned a trip to Europe to attend the wedding of some friends. The wedding would be in southeastern France, along the Cote d’Azur in a small village called Canadel. 

August is tourist season, so everything is expensive. Luckily, I was able to get a couple of cheap airline tickets from a former colleague of mine I worked with when I flew for TWA years earlier. Yvonne, my travel companion, and I wanted to spend a few days in Paris before heading by train to Canadel for the wedding. 

My flight-attendant friend, Jose got us the lowest level roundtrip tickets from San Francisco to Paris. This was fine by me because the lower the level, the cheaper the cost, the more money I could spend on clothes and food while in Paris. But Jose warned that these cheap tickets (buddy passes they called them), come with a risk. If flights are overbooked out of NY (our point of transfer), we’d be the first to get bumped. But I wasn’t worried about this – after all, I’d used buddy passes dozens of times before and have never had a problem. Not only that, if worse comes to worse, we could fly to a city near Paris and take a train in. 

I was certain that nothing could go wrong. And so, with full confidence, I spend the money saved by getting cheap tickets on a Paris-worthy shopping spree! Why wait to be in Paris to shop? I planned an outfit for each day, (something I’d never done before!). I even got us a place to stay for free near the famous Champs-Elysees. An ex-boyfriend owed me a favor and convinced his sister who lived in Paris to give us a room during our stay. Everything would be perfect. 

August finally comes and Yvonne and I have a fantastic flight from SFO airport. Not only did we get a free upgrade to business class, but our flight gets into JFK early. On the way to our connecting gate, we stop at one of those over-priced airport shops to stock up on chocolate and magazines. Giggly and excited we head to the gate. I get in line to check-in while Yvonne grabs one of the few empty seats. It’s busier than I thought it would be. 

The line is really long and seems full of frustrated passengers. I look over at a Yvonne and flash a smile with a thumbs up, wanting to reassure her that everything is fine. But, in fact, I’m more trying to reassure myself.  

Finally, I make it to the front of the line. Reaching for my ticket, the gate agent says, “This flight is very full, but I’ll see what can do.” 

Meanwhile the other gate agent is announcing the names of standby passengers who’ve made the cut. My bulletproof optimism shrinks with the announcement of each name. I start to fear the worst. “I’m so sorry Ms. Fletcher,” says the first gate agent, “but I’m afraid there isn’t a single seat left. There are too many standby passengers and you’ve got the lowest priority passes.”

In the periphery, I can see Yvonne looking in my direction but don’t dare look at her until I have boarding passes in hand. “Well, what about a different airport? There’s got to be another flight going into France besides Paris, n’est-pas?” I say, chuckling at my clever use of French. 

“Unfortunately, most flights leaving for Europe for the next day 1/2 are oversold. The only thing I can get you both on is a flight to Portugal – but it’s boarding right now, so you’ve got a minute to decide,” she says with controlled urgency. 

“Yes, we’ll take it, at least it’s on the same continent,” I blurt before realizing the idiocy of that comment. 

Just then Yvonne walks up and asks, “What’s taking so long?”

“It turns out that every flight going to Paris is is full, so we’re going to Portugal instead,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “I’ll explain later, we have sprint if we’re going to make this flight.” 

We make the flight just in time and arrive into Lisbon, Portugal’s capital in the late afternoon of a hot August day. But unfortunately, our bags go to Paris. In the cab ride from the airport neither of us are talking and giggling.

We’re dropped off at a cobble-stoned plaza that looks like it might be the central part of the city. Jetlagged and feeling sorry for ourselves, we randomly choose one of the many streets shooting off from the central plaza. My French Berlitz dictionary is not much help so we end up going with the first proprietor who speaks enough English to tell us the price per night. 

With no luggage to unpack, we settle in quickly and within the hour are sitting on the pension’s peach-colored metal terrace. By this time, I had been stewing in regret for not thinking things through, embarrassment at the fact that this didn’t just impact me but Yvonne also, and anger that things didn’t go as planned. Regret, embarrassment and anger, though unpleasant can sometimes be delicious ingredients but they make for a bitter meal that turn you into a real drag. 

So I wasn’t surprised that while sharing a bottle of local red wine Yvonne stared me straight in the eyes and said, “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Things didn’t go as planned – get over it!” 

I sat there in my stew of negative emotions, knowing she was right but I just couldn’t let it go. I mean what mess I made of things. And not only that, I’ve got no clothes! 

I pour a second glass and the owner comes out with a platter of cheeses and bread. Just then, the sun slips beneath the horizon making the sky a brilliant orange-pink color with shades of purple and blue. Each building reflects the light in glowing but unique hues. And Lisbon comes to life right there before my eyes.

“You might be right Yvonne, life’s too damn short…and who knows what tomorrow will bring anyway. I’ve got a feeling that whether I plan or not, we’re on an adventure.”

To hear what happens next, listen to the podcast I did on this trip: https://soundcloud.com/obind/lisbon

Getting Fired: Is There an Upside?

by Leave a Comment

A couple of years ago I got fired and I didn’t see it coming. My boss asked me to stop by the office at the end of the day. He wanted to talk to me about something. This wasn’t unusual, since I worked from home and he frequently asked sales people who worked remotely to come in to get updated on new product features. (I worked at a high-end sauna company that was constantly coming out with new improvements.) I had rented a car to leave for the weekend, so could stop by on my way out of town. I just hoped it wouldn’t take too long because I didn’t want to get stuck in 5pm traffic.

While packing it occurred to me that this “talk” could be a performance review. My sales hadn’t been great compared to the year before during the same time period. But I dismissed this idea by reassuring myself that surely the other sales reps were struggling to make their quota just like me. Besides, it took all I had to simply show up and deal with customers who would ask the same questions, have the same objections and basically, haggle for the cheapest price. I had had many different sales jobs in the past, and nothing had been harder to sell than saunas – not because it was rocket science. It wasn’t. But because customers tended to be blind to anything but getting the best price. And this made for predictably boring and rigid conversations. It was getting more and more difficult to not care about that.

A couple of hours later I arrive at the office. My boss has a tall, muscular build with a strong presence about him. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know he’s the boss. He’s also got a million and one things going on – from employees on the floor coming to ask questions, to both of his phones ringing off the hook from overwhelmed sales people needing his support to frustrated customers asking to talk with the decision maker. Amidst all this he maintains a calm authority. I’ve never experienced being in the eye of a tornado but I imagine it’s similar to being in the company of this man.

I knock at his door and am both glad to see him but afraid to meet with him face to face. This surprises me. I have nothing to be worried about. “Come in,” he says, getting up from behind his desk. “Have a seat,” he gestures to the couch adjacent to his desk. 

This couch is a gorgeous teal retro piece from the 50’s. To sit on it is to be transported to the set of a Mad Men episode. In all the meetings we’ve had over the past 2 years, not once has he asked me to sit on this magnificent couch. I settle in and scoot back all the way to be as upright as possible. It’s as if my body has sensed a threat and must brace for attack. Then the guy from HR comes in, closing the door behind him and I realize: I’m going to get fired. 

My boss starts talking about pressure from corporate and that my sales aren’t what they were last year. I interrupt him despite my throat tightening and heart pounding.  “But surely the other reps also have low sales,” I say, in a feeble attempt to challenge his data-based reasoning. As soon as I say it, he counters with the sales numbers of the other reps. I am so done for. 

He continues talking, not once becoming harsh or expressing disappointment. Despite his stoic exterior, I could tell that this was hard for him. Toward the end, he made the comment that I was a wonderful person, this job isn’t for everyone. It takes a certain kind of killer instinct. 

It’s true, I’m not a killer. And I can’t fake it. And trying to do so has become harder than the job. And right then and there, something shifted. Sure, my voice was chocked with tears, my hands trembling, my face flush and my body slumped – I had to force myself to sit up, take a breath, and focus. But at the same time, a little voice inside said this just is, it’s neither good nor bad. 

Don’t get me wrong, it was an unpleasant experience. The very nature of the situation – an authority at work delivers the news that you are no longer a fit for the role you were originally hired to do and as a consequence you are being let go. And not only are you not a fit, you won’t get that check at the end of the month each month. And if this weren’t bad enough, you’re the only one who got fired, so while it’s not personal – it’s almost impossible to not take it personally. And yet it was still the ok. 

I left the office shaken and a little ashamed – but by the time I reached my rent-a-car, I felt a hint of relief. Not just because I no longer had to do something I hated for a paycheck. But because of the way I took the bad news. Sure, my eyes looked like a popeye-fish from crying, and my mascara was probably half way down my face, but I didn’t lose myself. Something remained neutral inside – neither wrong or right, angry or defeated – while the outside world felt upside down. And just then it occurred to me that perhaps those qualities I admired so much in my now former boss, were in me all along. 

Dancing through Grief to Be Able to Be Present

by Leave a Comment

love knows no boundsI sat slumped over the steering wheel. “What am I afraid of?” I asked myself. The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow. Not being enough, I sighed. My year had already been filled with so much loss. Now, having to face my dear friend’s decline due to advanced Parkinson’s. It was more than I could bare.

“What do I want to give my friend?” I thought next. Climbing out of the car, I resolved to give her my full attention. I simply wanted to be there for her. Nothing else mattered.

Marguerite’s home nurse greeted me at the door, warning me that she was having a particularly bad day. Approaching her room, my anxiety returned. I ignored it.

She lay on her side, eyes closed, even though she was awake. She seemed uncomfortable. Her nurse shared that she was feeling less pain than earlier that day. Her arms, tucked neatly under her pillow, contrasted with her legs. They moved forward and out in random movements from beneath the bedsheets.

I sat beside her placing my hand on the metal bed rail. I stayed like that for some time attempting to tune into her energy and rhythm. Her eyes remained closed while the nurse let her know I was at her bedside. Reaching to move a strand of her chestnut gray hair from her forehead, she opened her eyes and managed a smile.

She asked me how I was and took my hand. There was a long pause before she gestured to her CD player and asked me to play something from Cuba. I put on Celia Cruz, one of her favorite artists. She asked me if I would dance for her. So I did.

I danced the dance of Oshun, (the goddess and archetype of love and the river according to the Afro-Cuban religion Santeria) who provided me with guidance to dance with joy and abundance.

I tried to fill her bedroom space with dance, being mindful to not get carried away by the music on the one hand, but not over-focused on Marguerite, on the other hand. She was part of the dance, not just the audience. I danced large and small – fast and slow – but mindful of staying connected.

Half way through the song, Marguerite asked her nurse to help her sit up. As she did, her toes touched the floor. I pulled up a chair and brought Oshun’s dance between us. Random leg movements became deliberate and under her control as she tapped out the song’s rhythm in perfect time. I joined her foot tapping with my own. The nurse joined too, and tapped the rhythm on her lap. We danced together.

Marguerite returned to bed for some much needed rest. Her eyes – full of life. We hugged goodbye and I promised not to wait so long before returning.

As I drove away, I realized that it’s not whether I believe I’m enough or not enough. It’s in trusting that in focusing on love, the world opens and with it, more courage, more patience, more love. Even in years full of loss.