Day Tripper

I woke up before dawn and struggled with what to wear for the full-work-team day trip to visit a client. Settled on the standard black pants. We were driving–all of us, in a rented mini-van—so I didn't feel quite so rushed. If I was a few minutes late, they'd wait. But I wasn't. I was 20 minutes early and didn't need to deal with security. So I walked around the mostly empty halls noticing, with slight envy, the people who looked packed for vacation. I got myself a Skinny Pancake egg sandwich and a coffee and I parked it on a bench. We drove to Boston, talked shop and not-shop, got carsick looking at screens. We met with one client, and then the next, and I left both meetings head spinning with possibilities. We piled back into the champagne caravan, plus two—they'd flown in from New York and were hitching a ride back. More shop talk, not-shop talk and discussion about whether to dine sitting at a table or in the minivan. What about a state-line liquor-store stop? Negotiation ensued. An agreement was made: liquor store, sit-down dinner. We left one, then the other, enriched. We hit the road for home. Tomorrow will be more typical. I am exhausted—and totally invigorated.

Our 15th February 14th

In the 15 years Olin and I have been together (10 of them married), we've created various Valentine traditions. We've gifted underwear (which is way less sexy than it sounds - fancy cold-weather first layers, like long johns, are favorite picks for this). For a number of years, we did 7 am breakfasts at Penny Cluse, saving the evening of 2/14 for our Platonic Pancake Lovefest. This was a pancake party for all of our friends - singles, couples, kids, whoever.

The most memorable of these happened 8 or so years ago, when 2 feet of snow trapped most of our guests at home. Not S and A. They snowmobiled over. Right down North Ave. And two single friends made it. Now they are married and expecting a baby. Like I said, Lovefest. Back then, when we were newlyweds. Or, at least, back then, when we were kid less and had more time for dates.

Today, our love looks more like this:

He is driving because the snowy, icy roads are dicey and that makes me super anxious.

He who remembered my mentioning months ago that I love the Vermont hats from Syrup Shop  and bought my favorite one, even I never told him the colors.

He who has been listening to me, for at least a week, obsess about my lower back pain. What if it's a kidney infection and not a snowboarding-induced strain?

He'll give me one of his kidneys, he jokes. And then, noticing real worry on my face, he listens to me read, aloud, a list of symptoms from WebMD.

He who pushes me to get behind the wheel at other times when I'm scared, to head back to the mountain when it'd be easier to just stay home and make the chili. Because he knows I'll be pissed at myself if I don't. 

And he cares.

I am Awesome at Picking People.

As someone who works in the field of behavior modification, I know that social support is a major "predictor of success." 

A little help from your friends

...

It takes a village.

.. Cliche-say it however you'd like but I think most people would agree that life feels infinitely easier, and more fun, when you have "a strong social network." And by that I mean things like...

...Your partner doesn't lose his shit (or seem at all surprised, really) when he arrives home 1.5 hours after you do and, despite the fact that the kids have been watching videos since you walked through the door, the van is not packed for your trip. Nothing, really, is packed except the non-perishable food and your glasses and the snowboarding gear, which he stashed in the car the night before. It's not because you are lazy. It's because you're ping-ponging from room to room, over-thinking every item (and periodically pausing to thumb through a pile of pictures). It's because you suck at packing.

This guy.

Also, this guy (and several other awesome peeps) ate that (see below) pasta.

... Your totally selfless friend gives you the jacket off her back to wear so you can sneak in an extra snowboarding lesson after you discover that you left your snowboarding jacket at home for a long weekend of, um, snowboarding.

And then another kind friend lends you her ski coat to wear the next day for your regular lesson. And then a third rockstar friend texts you with a choice of Burton jackets for Sunday—she'll cart whichever one you want up to the mountain for you, along with her own ski stuff, her two small children and their ski stuff.

...Your friend turns up after a few hours out with "twice-price" spice packets from the country store, without your even asking, because you forgot all of the spices for the chili you're making on Friday night. This in spite of the fact that, a day earlier, you subjected all of your friends to a painfully granular list of all the food you'll be bringing so everyone will "know what we will are supposed to have." (PS: You also forgot the bagels.)

A strong social support network is also the one that, when the friend who lent you the first-day jacket discovers three small shards of the Ball jar from which she is spooning her homegrown pesto have broken into the beautiful pasta dish she prepared while tending to an infant, rallies to find the bits of glass and puzzle them together. And when just one tiny piece is left missing, someone runs next door to get hotdogs for the kids, while someone else scrapes off the top layer of pasta and a small group huddles at the table to run through a quick risk analysis, arriving at the measured consensus to play "Noodle Roulette." There are only two rules: 1) savor each bite mindfully and 2) keep the conversation dull enough to delay laughter until the danger of ingesting glass has passed.

Recounting a fantastic weekend, I take this away: I may suck at packing (and driving and controlling my anxiety-induced outbursts and many other things). I may not be good at snowboarding, or even know how to ride a lift—yet.* But I am extraordinarily skilled at surrounding myself with amazingly awesome people. And I kinda think that makes me a winner.

*I can, however, now connect turns and ride the Magic Carpet with the best of the 3-year-olds.