Choosing Shoes

A couple of nights ago, my person and I were discussing my blog. I was mentioning that one of my friends had reported she reads my blogs when she can, but sometimes finds certain posts to be more philosophical than she's up for. I remarked, "It's not like I'm writing about the meaning of life or something. My thoughts are pretty commonplace."

He smiled a little smile, shook his head, and said, "Wellllllllll, you come close to some pretty significant deepness sometimes. Even when your posts are about everyday things like, I don't know, choosing shoes, by laying out your thoughts, arguments, process, analysis, things verge on philosophy sometimes."

Well, I don't write about the meaning of life - why would I? It's already been covered adequately by Douglas Adams. I do write about the search for meaning, sometimes very much in the footsteps of writers I love such as Douglas Copeland and Barbara Kingsolver. Maybe even more importantly, I write about the things that make me the best version of myself, what's meaningful to me, and ways to hold myself to that. (It's not that I think my life is more important than the bigger meaning of life in general, just that the only system I can really contribute to or influence on a regular basis is ME so understanding myself well is, in my opinion, one of the better things I can do for the greater good).

But I can write about decision making, and choosing shoes. And since my person teased with the "choosing shoes" example, I laughingly pledged to write an entry about shoes.

Today, I was barefoot for most of the day. That's because it's 101 degrees out and my basement is far lovlier than that so I chose to apply for jobs, cook, do laundry, clean my house, and catch up with a good friend before getting showered and dressed and leaving the house. But when I did put shoes on, surprisingly, I did actually have to think about it - all joking aside. I put on a denim skirt, bright green tank top, and black t-shirt to go out for groceries in. I have great sandals that have green in them but, they are brown - not great with a black shirt. I also have a beaded necklace that is dear to my heart because my girl K-bomb made it for my 5th 29th birthday (I turned 29 for the 5th time last year on my birthday), and it has green and BLACK beads. I have a pair of gorgeous black flowered Alegria shoes that I could get away with. Magically, they are not only cute and distinctive, but orthotically correct without looking like old lady shoes. This is important for someone like me who has hyper-extending joints, bad knees, and feet that like to cramp but who also loves to look stylish. Ultimately, though, if I wore those shoes, it felt like it would be over the top to wear the necklace too. So, I went with the plain black flip flops and rationalized it by deciding: plain, black, soft, open air on my feet, and easy to slip off when I come home, which is good since I just cleaned the floors.

So, there you are, sweetie, some writing about choosing my shoes.

But, there's another way to look at this, which is to look at decision making. We all make decisions all day, all the time, every day. what to bring for lunch, what to watch, how to say something difficult to a loved one, Tylenol or Advil?

I'm unemployed, so I don't make workplace decisions like I used to, but my work days used to be filled with selecting priorities, choosing which things to pass onto other departments and which to solve myself, thinking about and implementing action plans, communicating and setting goals with others, and decision after decision of who, what, when, where, and how. But, even not working, I'm still engaged in decision making every day. Here's a quick example of things I've decided, just today:

• Get up now or sleep a little longer? (I slept because I've had some intermittent insomnia lately and need to catch up where I can)
• Yogurt, banana, hard boiled egg for breakfast or protein smoothie with bananas? (I had a smoothie and a cereal bar because it was fast and used up bananas that were a little over-ripe)
• Shower right after breakfast? (I decided to clean my house first and then shower during the hot part of the day as a way of cooling off)
• What salads should I make? (Kale salad and corn salad)
• Take stuff out to the trash or compost? (Compost because it's experimental at my place right now, and I want to encourage others to do it even if it's a little extra effort for me.)
• Mean note or conciliatory note to the person encroaching on my space. (Neither. Something in between, asserting that I think it's reasonable for me to ask him not to use my space, but also mentioning that I'm checking with the HOA on how they treat that space. I don't want to be harsh unless I know I'm right, and even then, I'd prefer to be on good terms with my neighbors if that can be achieved without being a doormat.)
• How specific should I be about my current relationship while talking with an old friend who once wished he could date me? (Neither vague nor specific since it didn't come up in conversation too much and I didn't feel the need to force it as he told me where he was at with dating, his ex and his ex-wife.)
• Should I buy a cookie while I'm out. (No! I don't need it, and this heat makes me less than hungry)
• Should I stop at the liquor store (No! I recently expressed a plan to drink less beer in order to reduce carbs, don't need the calories, wanted to get home, and I'm broke)
• Bulk almonds or packaged (Easy, same price per pound. Take the packaged ones as a matter of efficiency.)
• Should I get gas today or tomorrow? (Today because I could go by the station where I can use reward points and get gas for less than $3.50 a gallon without going out of my way.)
• What should I listen to? (The Nylons, because I'm in the mood for some music that is upbeat, and has interesting harmonies)
• What song should I post today? (For the Longest Time, The Nylons. Because I love Billy Joel, harmony, and acapella)
• Apply for more jobs this week? (No, I've done 10 apps, and since I have to contact a minimum number of employers/job postings every week, it's actually better for me to save some for next week. Especially since I won't do my best work on customizing resumes and letters right now.)
• In playing Dice with Buddies against my brother, I rolled three 2's, a 1 and a 4. I kept the 2's and rolled again, and got a fourth 2, and rolled my third turn, and did not get a fifth 2. So, play as 4 of a kind (11 points with my 2x4 plus a 3) or in the 2's category (total of all 2's = 8)? (I played in the 2's category since the highest I could have gotten in the 2's was a 10 but the highest I could get in  4 of a kind with 4 2's is 14. The highest possible in that category is 6x5 = 30, though you'd be a fool not to play THAT in 6's or 5 of a kind for 50 points. I reasoned, this way, playing in 2's I'm only 2 points below the best I COULD have done.)

What makes a decision good or bad? Is it getting compliments on the shoes I wore? Getting the best price on almonds? Whether or not I end up beating my brother in Dice with Buddies? Is it the outcome of that decision?

Maybe not, especially not if you think about how even small choices can affect other things. I also think . . . it's hard to consider the weight of any decision in isolation. It may have been a mistake to give up the things I gave up on the East Coast to come here for a fiance who didn't put as much effort into the relationship as I did, but it didn't end up being wrong for me to be here. My job with my former employer was the right thing for me as I was leaving grad school, but ended up not being the right thing for me by somewhere around late 2010. My bestest friend everest regrets not taking me to my prom when I asked, but I ended up with the most amazing, sweet, entertaining, funny, charming, solicitous friend-of-a-prom-date EVER. I may lose my Dice with Buddies game, but winning or losing isn't why I play - I play because it keeps me in communication with my favorite family member.

Outcomes are hard to measure when they keep unfolding in new ways. If you had asked me during Labor Day of 2008 if I was ok being here, the answer would've been, "get me the frak outta here ASAP." But, being here has left me stronger, healthier, more reconciled with myself, knowing my limits and how NOT to push past them, and with a much deeper connection with my loved ones, despite being farther away from them. A year from now, though, I'll have even more information and may look at this completely differently, for better or worse.

For my part, what allows me to judge a decision I make as being "good" or "bad" is more about the process I use to arrive at it. Have I considered the important facts? Have I done the math correctly? Have I not only collected the right data and analyzed it, but made sure to collect enough of it? Have I spent the time needed to feel like, whatever happens as a result of this, I won't wonder if I should have asked different questions, or looked for supporting evidence differently? Have I thought about how the necklace and the shoes work together?

What this looks like for me is spending a lot of time writing, journaling, researching, talking, asking questions, reading, and then trying to see the bigger picture (in fine detail . . . I don't want to lose the trees for the forest, nor the forest for the trees) as I stare at a ceiling or chop vegetables into very small pieces. And, as a result, there are really only half a dozen or so things I genuinely regret in my life. (I don't say that to brag, but only to say that I think if you stop looking at ONLY outcomes, it becomes much harder to regret because what's left to notice is process and ongoing repercussions, that are always unfolding, positive and negative, since nothing is a closed system. ) One of them involves some rope, a closet, and my little brother. The other does involve my career. A third involves a dear friend from college and a vacation house in upstate NY. A fourth, a friendship I didn't keep . . and a couple of others are too complicated (not too private, just too twisty and detailed) to write here.

When I look at those moments in my life . . . there were good and less than good outcomes of each of those decisions in all cases. Maybe, the good and the bad are intertwined, or maybe how things work out or don't work out have more to do with how we react and what outlook we take as things unfurl. It's so hard to say at this point in my life, sitting where I'm sitting, wondering what will happen next and trying SO HARD to be ok with whatever that is. Knowing that I won't know what that looks like until my nose bangs right onto a sliding glass door looking out on that scene.

I say this as a reminder to myself, not a guideline for anyone else. Because I'm in the midst of making some big decisions about my life. Where to live, who to live with, how to make that work, what jobs to look for, how to aim towards them . . . going back to school or not? Whole new career or slight shift in tasks, roles and title but similar function? If the universe is anywhere near as hilarious as it has been in the past, I'll walk part way down the road towards settling these things, and then, simultaneously, after stumbling through a desert, a dearth of options, I'll find myself showered with choices, fruit-basket like, wondering if I should eat bananas or apricots or melon or grapefruits, or or or. I am certain that if I decide to go back to school, that will be the moment I get a job. I am certain that by deciding to re-sign my lease, I'll now find myself considering job options or school options more than an hour south of here.

And when that happens, I'll stamp my flip-flopped feet and gnash my terrible teeth but I'll also laugh and laugh and laugh. None of these decisions are irrevocable, and I have more than a small number of friends who are making bigger decisions, decisions with longer-lasting consequences. Decisions about who should parent their children, or when life begins, or how to be at peace with choosing jail for a lesser sentence over fighting the good fight and losing in the court of public opinion anyways, or bankruptcy, or infertility.

My problems and choices are mine, so of course, they are magnified in my brain. This isn't a bad thing. It means I take ownership of them, and do my best to make sure the things I'm doing add up and don't hurt others if I can avoid it. But, I need to remember that in the larger scheme of things, school vs. job hunting, staying here vs. moving is closer to a "what shoes should I wear" decision than an earth-moving one.

In this vein, the very best I can do is to make decisions in a way that I can look back on and feel good about, even if they don't work out the way I planned. Decisions I can take responsibility for proudly, choices that reflect my convictions and beliefs, and things that are as consistent with the information I have and goals I'm aiming for as possible. I'm learning that my plans aren't always THE PLAN and that the way to feel good about my choices isn't to measure my success in traditional metrics, but to look back and say, "was my process sound? Was the data set robust? Was the analysis one I would arrive at again?" Because we never really know if the choices we make will be what we hoped they were - marriage, shoes, haircuts, dinner menus, jobs, colleges, cookies. None of it.

Wear the shoes that feel comfortable today, and worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Make the kind of decisions that you can live with even if they don't work out as planned because not much does. I stubbed my toe in those black sandals, but, I never thought, "I shouldn't have worn those . . . "

Yes, all, this is me, 6 months into unemployment learning that we can't nail everything down in the order and arrangement we would most like, and if we could, it might not be for the best since we can't ever see the whole scene from where we're standing . . . even if we're wearing heels.

Secret Introvert?

I have some friends and family who are closet introverts. I know them for what they are, but much like people used to use all kinds of not-very-clever euphemisms for being gay and would only say the word "gaayyy" in the "cancer voice" (Margaret Cho's mother comes to mind. "Mommy knows all about the gay! So many! So many Gay, allll over, all over the world. Wahhhh!") I have never much called them out of their safe closets of introversion where they recharge their batteries in peace. This is because our societal norms are pretty judgy about introversion.

Yesterday, I was telling the story of my New Year's Eve 2011(henceforth on this blog, NYE 2011) to a friend who is new to my life, but has taken up space in my heart and life very rapidly. I was describing how, for years, I've helped my besties, my boys who are my family, cook and plan and clean and host and then met their friends (who are fun and amazing people and who have become my friends) at the resultant celebration. I said how awesome it was when MY friend came wanting to see me and meet them but how I had to be a bit of an intermediary. My friend wanted to party, but not stay at the house; while my Robby wanted everyone to stay at the house because in his mind post-NYE breakfast is lazy people in PJs in his living room (yes, that's right - we cook for days and make not only a stunning set of appetizers, dinner, cocktails, and dessert, but breakfast for the next day. A moment of silence for our awesomeness, please). I intervened and said, "I know you want to be an awesome host so make the offer, but if he says 'no' that's not the I'm-being-polite-but-you-can-push-harder signal, that's him saying 'I want to party and then go have some space to recharge as an introvert.' And in that case you need to accept that being a good host means respecting that need."

The new friend I was telling this NYE story to has been married for 3 years, and with her husband for 6 years before. Her husband is very much an introvert so she said, "It's so rare that non-introverts know that. It took me years to learn it and not take it personally."

We're an extrovert-centric culture. My more-than-friend, Rob(by), and I joked for a long time that the last frontier of prejudice was a world that assumed everyone is right-handed, and expects him, a lefty, to adjust everything without complaint. True, desks, scissors, tools, and spiral notebooks all assume use by a righty, and lefties just have to suck it up and learn ambidexterity or other ways to compensate. But it's also true that there are now stores that specialize in making lefties more comfortable as lefties. There are no stores for introverts . . . unless you count Best Buy and Elliot Bay Books as havens for the introvert who just wants to be left the heck alone with their media and their internal process.

The message in our culture regarding introversion is both unsubtle and incorrect, in my not very expert opinion because there is an assumption that being outgoing is preferable in all scenarios and that introverts are the opposite of this: shy. As it turns out, introversion isn't about being shy, or anxious about other humans, it's about where resources and energy go, and where they come from. (As someone who used to be a multi-focal trainer . . . and hopes to be again someday . . I often think about this as the difference between internal training and customer-facing training in an organization. With many of my clients' small businesses I would recommend and even provide training as a means of developing their operations, sales, and other business needs. But internal training was about developing resources on hand, and processing what was happening inside the four walls of that business, and drawing energy and participation from within the group/organization. Customer-facing training is all about putting energy into people outside of "yourself"  - where yourself equals the business/staff/organization in this example -  with the expectation of getting that investment back in increased customers, loyalty, etc. In parallel, introverts do their best work and understand the world best by facing inwards and drawing their energy and motivation from that, and extroverts shine most when they can invest in and be energized by others. )

From, Revenge of the Introvert "While extraverts spend more time overall in social activities than introverts do, the two groups do not differ significantly on time spent with family members, romantic partners, or coworkers. Moreover, extraverts and introverts both report a mood boost from the company of others. For introverts, however, the boost may come at a cost. Researchers have found that introverts who act extraverted show slower reaction times on subsequent cognitive tests than those allowed to act introverted. Their cognitive fatigue testifies to the fact that "acting counter-dispositionally is depleting."

A culture that prizes extroversion and gregariousness often conflates anxiety and introversion, placing not only positive bias on being extroverted, but negative assumptions on not being extroverted. It's nice that experts agree that introversion isn't the same as being shy. It's even more important that we consider what being introverted DOES mean and trying to understand, as this Ted talk says so eloquently, the power of the introverts around us.

Let's be clear, in America we are loud, rowdy, boisterous, and love the person who can party or make everyone feel good. We expect to be entertained at all that we do so we interview people for jobs seeking extroverted characteristics. In my recent interviews I've been asked the following questions:

• Tell me about a time where you had to make a connection with someone quickly
• Tell me about your team work experiences
• What can you say about your strategy for convincing groups of people to ________
• What are your strengths in facilitating groups?

This would make sense, of course, if all of the positions I've looked at were customer-facing training positions, or sales support. But in fact, none of my last three interviews were even TRAINING positions. We assume that our bosses, teachers, co-workers, and leaders should be the life of the party, and moreover, excited to walk in those shoes. We elect a disproportionate number of extroverts and we assume, somehow, that the person who seeks to work alone, be alone, process alone does so because they are too shy to operate as the social butterfly would.


Because we love the extrovert here, and we misunderstand the introvert as being awkward, shy, hard to draw out, unable to connect with people, and thus, somehow socially disabled. In reality, introverts may eschew small talk because they'd rather dig for deeper meanings and connections, they may choose not to go to every party, they may not only crave but need time alone to process and recharge, but they like people just fine, if possibly in shorter doses or via more careful selection.

As one of my closest friends is an introvert, I've actually done quite a bit of reading and considering on the topic of how extroverts and introverts can live together in peace, how to be supportive of introverts around me, and even, how shall we say . . . well, I'll just quote this article, Caring for my introvert(s). My own experience suggests that by respecting boundaries, learning to enjoy quiet, seemingly solitary activities with them (watching TV, studying in the same room, reading), and being very open to real conversation that goes beyond weather and gossip, an introvert will show that they have paid deep attention to what has been said and, sometimes importantly, what has not been said, will share things that reflect deep emotional connection and awareness, and will ultimately let you inside their introspective, quiet place. Introverts aren't about what's on the surface, and part of the bias of an extroverted world is not only judging introverts for not playing the surface-niceties game, but to also judge introverts only by what they show on the surface . . . and there's so much more beneath that layer. My friend from college and I had our deepest talks when alone in a dark lab at 2am or when I was massaging him. (That sounds dirtier than it was. Giving massages was just part of my friendship with him) I know things because I stopped asking-asking-asking and started shutting up and listening.

I did all of this with the idea that I was on the outside of this circle (or to be more accurate, the individual circles the introverts I know have for themselves, and expand oh-so-very selectively, letting others in very carefully).

I knew my college friend as introverted long before it ever came up in conversation, and since the inception of that friendship, I've had a few other important connections with introverts, including the relationship I'm in now. I have two other close friends here in Boulder that are introverts. One of these makes no bones about it - she prefers to spend time with me one-on-one whenever possible so we can deep-talk, and she feels most connected with people in this way and sometimes overwhelmed (not shy, just too stimulated to process) when in bigger groups. The other puts on a great show, and truly is one of the most entertaining people I know, but often reports to me being tired by that. When we were first hanging out, because she is so energetic and hilarious, I worried she wouldn't want to spend time with me . . . that I wouldn't be cool enough. But as I thought of fun things for us to do, time and again she would choose to just come over to my house, eat dinner, talk, and watch TV. Secret Introvert.

One of my brothers is a secret introvert. He often claims, "I hate people." He'll make me come for certain holidays so that I can "buffer." The truth is, he talks about people more than he talks about anything else (including working out, beer, and sex, so that's saying a lot): our sister, our other brother, my mom, his best friend, his best friend's new baby, going out for drinks with my besties which happened, like, 3 years ago. He doesn't hate people - he hates small talk. He hates being "nice" because he isn't (not by most people's limited standards, anyways), and because he has a slow-to-warm-up personality that makes him often pressured or misunderstood. And, after a big family event, he craves retreating to run, read, sleep, watch TV on his own the way my knocked-up friends crave chocolate. Secret introvert.

I have shared a lot with introverts in my life . . . but always thought of myself as an extrovert. But recently, my person sighed and said, "Ohhhh, Christie. You can say you're an extrovert, but you are telling me things that make me think you're an introvert."

This was almost as stunning as when he referred to me as a writer, weeks ago. I've just never considered myself as anything other than extroverted. How much of this is about extrovert-bias and how much is true? It's hard to say since most tests of this personality spectrum from the introvertedy-introvert all the way to the most extroverted there can be are based on either self-assessment or self-reporting or both. So, even if I look at the fact that I always test as an ENFJ (or, in the past, very occasionally as an ENFP) I may be responding to misperceptions of myself, and those perceptions, in turn, may be shaped by extrovert bias. So hard to say since all of the questions on such instruments are open to so much interpretation, which requires comparison, which of course, again, are shaped by biases and bad information.

So logically, let's look at my family: I grew up with two siblings. One is the most extroverted anyone could be; the proverbial social butterfly who places himself in the center of activity at any party, gathering, or family event and can talk and entertain for hours. Alone time seems a punishment to him and so he seeks out shared living (while my other sibling and I have admitted that living alone is our greatest luxury) and careers that require constant contact with others. The other sib is described above - secret introvert. I have one parent who is genuinely miserable when by herself (the textbook extrovert who wants to be out, with others, all the time and when alone picks up the phone ASAP) and had another parent who very much fit the mold of the introverted engineer that he was. It would make sense for me to be either a moderately expressed extrovert or a moderately expressed introvert, not heavily weighted on either side, given this set up. And while early personality-type research suggested that firstborn children were more "dominant" newer research suggests that firstborns are less likely to be extroverted.

Ok, so, not crazy given my family. The next natural thing would be to observe myself . . . except that there are arguments both for and against the present circumstances I find myself in. On the one hand, not working is pretty exceptional for me. I've been working for more than 20 years. And the toll of not working has been difficult, to say the least. On the other hand, there's an argument to be made for looking at NOW as the Christie-in-her-natural-habitat; not responding to others' needs, not running myself ragged for a paycheck, but just being me. Viewed by the former lens, it's easy to discount where I'm at as situation-specific and to say that my tendency for more solitary reflection is about the natural disappointment at being in this position. Viewed from the later perspective, these five months are more telling than the 5 years that came before them.

And the truth is, for the last 5 months, it has made the most sense to me to sit still, to think hard, and to be very, very open about who and what I am. This speaks very deeply of some previously unnoticed introverted tendencies that are nonetheless core to who I am. I like to talk things over with people, but I don't run over to the phone as soon as I am alone, and in fact, I'm quite choosy (some would argue, too choosy) about who I let in . . . and have written about that many, many times on this blog. I also do some of my best reconciling life with myself by staring at a ceiling, or processing solo. I am a multi-tasker so sometimes this means laying on my couch and staring up quietly, but more often it's me being a whirrling dervish of laundry, cooking, cleaning, while turning things over in my head and letting them set down and find a soft landing site. I have never been one for small talk, and right now, it just seems to have no place in the life of meaning and understanding I'm trying to envision and then build . . . from scratch. I just had my birthday and for me the best thing about it was having just a few awesome folks who all liked each other . . . read: no real work for me to facilitate it. I felt tired at the idea of a big party, and excited at the idea of the right group of people and getting to catch up with them and drink beer.

For my person, the argument here is that if I am at my healthiest right now by giving myself the time, and the space, and the reflective alone-ness to understand and make friends with myself, then it is an indication that it might not have been healthy for me to peg myself as an extrovert and then invest myself in passing as one. For me, the image in my head is of the little girl I was in 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade (importantly, old enough to have a recognizable personality, but young enough to not yet have been fully tainted by the expectations of others and the social machine young girls wed themselves to so painfully early) who would clamor to get off the school bus in order to run up the hill, grab an apple, and throw her legs over the arm chair with a book . . . alone. This was the same little girl who had one or two close friends and didn't much care to surround herself with more. It's inconvenient that recalling this also means remembering the bad dresses she wore, and that her mom favored the pig-tails hairstyle but . . . I do this in the name of some unpolluted data.

Even this blog is a mixed case - I am opening the door, at least in theory, for anyone to know the things I write here. But the act of writing it involves a lot of reflection, a lot of collecting data, connecting the dots, navel-gazing about meaning and theory and deeper connections. And I almost never experience more of the person I am or could be than when I'm writing it on this level.

So, pure data isn't so pure. I shouldn't be shocked after my four semesters of graduate level statistics, during one of which the grads all heard the best quote ever, "you can torture your data all you want. sooner or later it will confess to something." I retook the Myers-Briggs personality test again in preparation for this post and found that if I reinterpreted a couple of the questions to fit my current lifestyle (and by a couple, I mean exactly three questions) I tested as an INFJ with moderately expressed I-ness. When I read the ENFJ type that I've so often been reported as, so much of it reads true . . . I am prone to placing the needs of others above my own, I am chameleon-like sometimes, I do have a talent for bringing out the best in others and I am loyal and straightforward, sometimes to a fault. And I read the INFJ description and see pieces of myself there too: I am overly sensitive to conflict, and don't handle it well, I am prone to creative, independent pursuits (ahem! This blog, my 365, and even my previous job which had me running a remote region solo), I do tend to be overly orderly and I do, indeed, hold fast to values and find myself prioritizing and re-prioritizing in order to make sense of my world. (Again, Ahem! This blog).


It is also true that I love my friends and positively light up around them and that after processing on my own, or taking my long walk, or reading and writing, or immersing myself in ideas, I want to share with them. I want to affect others, I want to influence and be influenced, and importantly, I am energized by others . . . if it is the right others. Maybe I'm just a miserably picky bastard with trust issues. Or . . . maybe I'm a secret introvert. Like the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop, the the world may never know . . . and it may never be important. But, if it's a secret I've kept from myself, I'll be watching to see how thinking outside of the "extroverts are excellent" box  changes how I see myself.

Brothers and Sisters

I talk a lot about my friends. My friends are amazing and make me truly one of the luckiest people I know. In a lot of important ways, my friends run deep in my blood the way family does for some other people. I am often stunned at the amount of love and support my friends give away and direct to me. I hope everyone has the kind of friends who will offer a guest room in a time of need, who will accept their boyfriend even when he isn't that nice, who will bend over backwards to visit. I hope so. I know that I am remarkable though, in that when I found myself grieving two different people and all alone in a place where I knew, literally, no one, one friend quickly offered, "I can come out if you need me," and another friend pushed, "Call me if you decide to move back and need a driving companion." (Not my family, though I a lucky to have a brother who said," If I ever see the guy who did that no amount of karate will save his ass.") This seems like a happy accident to me. A windfall.

I learn so much from my friends, and that is not an accident. I pick and choose people by who fascinates me. Who makes me laugh? Who kills me at Scrabble? Who shows me a way to look at things I don't achieve on my own? Who has a skill set I can't even imagine? Who flies a plane, makes cheese from scratch, can take my computer apart and put it back together, who knows art history or poli sci? Who can play the guitar with such shocking perfection that it makes me feel feelings I can't describe? Who makes me laugh until my sides hurt even when I'm in super serious Depressio mode?

Now that I'm at a certain age, it's rare to find many of my friends who don't have children and families that they are busily building on their own (I actually can count on one hand those people and for many of them it is by choice). I actually recently realized that somewhere in the last two years, I crossed an invisible line. When I was 32 and dating I encountered a few people who had been married or had kids. Now, it's everyone. This, more than all the weddings and baby showers I've bought gifts for are the sure sign that building new families is the business of being 30 something.

Of course, this means considering the families we all came from, or at least it does for all of my friends as they try to enter into this with their eyes open. I've been thinking a lot about this for the last month, for a lot of different reasons. And then I came across this TED talk. Let's all acknowledge that TED talks are pretty cool. Not all of them are my personal cup of tea, but they are all well done and thought provoking. I typically watch about 2 or 3 of them a week because it reminds me of the lunch series my grad department used to have a couple of times a month, or better yet, the "donuts and discussion" group the grad students did. Smart, smart people sharing their well detailed outlook, and yet not hours and hours long. Just enough to give you a taste and make you want to learn more.

I urge you all to listen to this talk as it may persuade you to think beyond the surface of your family. But, I'll say a few things about this talk by Jeffrey Kluger to set up some of my thoughts. He speaks powerfully for the fact that siblings color our lives profoundly, and that this relationship can be significantly defining in positive or negative directions.

"There may be no relationship that affects us more profoundly; that's closer, finer, harder, sweeter, happier, sadder, more filled with joy or fraught with woe than the relationship we have with our brothers and sister. there's power in the sibling bond," he says.

I have lived this. My happiest memories as a child revolve around hilarious or close moments with my brothers (please to note: I am not leaving out my sister here as a cut on her. We didn't grow up in the same house so my bond with her comes from a different place than playing Legos or dress up). I have significantly sentimental memories of long car trips, catching sand crabs, of building forts, of jumping on the beds in a vacation cottage by the beach, and, for some reason, of watching Star Trek with them one summer and realizing that as the oldest, it was my job to read the subtitles for them.

But some of my worst childhood memories are of brutal and vicious fights, of cruel things we did to one another, of being locked out of their room or locking one of them out of mine, of putting a CD in the microwave, of being pushed into a tree, concussions, or having toys sadistically dismembered. I'm sure I deserved this as much as every big sister, and more than many.

What stands to reason is that since my brothers were and are (and my sister now also joins in this) my peers in the family, they and I have an advantage of sharing each others' stories in a way our parents never can or could. We lived the same life, in the same house, growing up with much the same lot in life (though my youngest sibling and I not too long ago realized that in some ways we grew up in different families with different parents because the foundation of all of those relationships changed so radically when my parents divorced . . . which happened just as I left for college.) 

I'm not surprised that Kluger says,"The sibling bond can be a thing of abiding love. Our parents leave us too early, our spouse and our children come along too late - our siblings are the only ones who are with us for the entire ride. Over the arc of decades there may be nothing that defines us and forms us more powerfully than our relationship with our brothers and sisters."

I've written poems about this. It's possibly one of the most difficult connections I try to maintain and understand, but when it works, it is . . . well, it makes me feel my rough edges smooth out in a way that happens maybe nowhere else in my life.

I once wrote this piece of . . . something:

I miss them as often as I forget them,

When we are apart, I have to make whole cloth

Without them.

I discount them as often as I believe we

Three were once

Mistaken for triplets, sharing

Toys and triumphs as easily as we doled out

Fists or french fries.

The memories don’t blur, but the

Bright sharpness of elbows pressing against me reminds

Me suddenly of things I have shelved

and rarely dusted off.

(It is what it is as a piece of a poem I once wrote, good, bad, or blahhh, but it is also very, very true)

I believe in siblings. I believe they see me as no one else does, and so maybe I not only get to see them in that special light, but also borrow it and see myself differently through them. I also believe in siblings because as adults we've been able to come together to share some bigger than big things. Happy things that would have been less fun without them, sad things that would have been miserable or impossible without them. What would I have done if I couldn't turn to my sister and my brother when it came time to take care of a dying parent? What would happen if I stood alone in my family?

None of this, of course, is to say that our relationships are idyllic, or even as well knit as I sometimes wish they were. We've all had long moments of ignoring the others. When it has been my turn to do that I've sloshed back and forth between guilt and defiance. When I'm "in" and someone else is "out" I feel angry and hurt by their actions. So, the accidental bumps and bruises of riding in the back seat of the station wagon aren't that different from Kluger's assertion that our siblings are along for the ride, even as adults. I've been there for my siblings when I could and when I realized it was important, and whether that was showing up at wrestling matches, one strange afternoon spent sunbathing on the back deck with Chad hours before he graduated high school, or picking up my nephew from the airport, that's what it means. And they've been there for me. My sister brought her sister here and took me into the mountains. I will never forget that my brother Geoff drove up to my college graduation on the same Saturday as his prom, knowing he would have to immediately leave and drive 2 hours back to put his tux on.

But it's not all sunning ourselves and sand crabs, right? There's birth order, favoritism, and what Kluger calls de-identification to consider, and all of those played important roles in our house . . . though maybe not in exactly the expected ways in all cases. Here's the idea - evolution for most animals is to raise one or a very few babies at a time. Some mothers will do this by booting a smaller egg out of the nest (Crested Penguins), or letting hatchlings literally tear each other apart (Black Eagles). Humans aren't so different when we're competing for attention and resources by trying to discover our strongest selling points and hitting on them early, and often. Siblings have to de-identify with one another because if one is a talented artist, the next can pursue art for less than half of the attention the first artist in the family got. We have to differentiate to be worthy and to garner all of the attention in one area, is the idea. "Someone's the funny one, someone's the pretty one, someone's the smart one, someone's the athlete."

Pause. Beat. Pause.

I don't know about all of your families, but this was actually literally spoken out loud in mine. In a hospital room, about 10 days before my dad died. "Chad's the charmer athlete, and Geoff is the funny one. Camille is my southern belle. And Christie? She's the smart one." All of this is ironic and scientifically fascinating all at once. First, I will note some things carefully. None of us is only that one thing that was named. My brother the charmer is also he of a genius IQ, a Midas touch for seemingly almost any pursuit be it gourmet food, music, or writing, and he is and has ever been a gifted athlete. My brother the comedian is actually phenomenally smart and possessed of a singular perspective and a voice to tell it, despite not being interested always in academics. He has amazing determination and resolve, and this combined with his natural gifts have turned him into a fierce and accomplished mixed martial arts fighter. My sister the southern belle is an undeniable beauty, imbued with both the genteel southern coating, and the steel rod for a spine underneath. She is funny, warm, loving, forgiving, smart, spontaneous, sophisticated, scientific, and has a gift for feeling people out. It's not surprising that she is a truly talented nurse.

Now, it's interesting that Chad pinned so much of himself in athletics, because, well, I couldn't. Asthma, bad knees, and lets face it, I'm just not that swift or graceful aside from all those things! Meanwhile, Chad has so many gifts, he could've claimed "smart one." Actually, all my life what I heard was, "Chad and Geoff are gifted, despite some of their learning differences. But Christie . . . well she's such a hard worker." Which isn't exactly the same as being the "smart one," is it? (You could've knocked me over with a feather in that 2008 hospital room when that was said out loud) Meanwhile, in this tangled web of what I couldn't be (umm, I sucked at soccer, and I couldn't please by playing football, cello. It remains a crappy sports gender inequality) if working hard was my most pleasing trait, you bet your boots I was going to market the heck out of it. I wonder which came first - Chad being charming and athletic because I was pursuing an academic life at an early age, or me giving up on sports because it was never going to catch the eyes and therefore claiming school since it was what was left?

Whereas our youngest sibling being the "funny one"  . . . well, to be clear, he is. His tongue is sometimes barbed, but never unamusing. And this bears out exactly with expected birth order. The youngest or smallest has to develop "lower power strategy" (what a terrible phrase for that. It sounds like "Developing nation." So condescending). The idea here is that the littlest one has to make people laugh so they don't lock him in a closet (though I regret to admit, we did this so often that Geoff thought it was a game and used to bring the rope to us!) or belt him. If s/he can charm and disarm and work their way into the hearts of people, they'll be better provided for than if they fight for what they need and lose an unfair battle. So, it isn't surprising that Geoff is, truly, the funny one. What's remarkable is that he is so much more than that, and does fight so hard for what he wants . . . and wins!

This is perhaps one of a large cascade of things about my family that breaks the mold. I won't go into all of it here, but suffice it to say that there are good and hard things about the ways in which birth order was true in our upbringing, and good and hard things about the ways in which it was not true. I can't speak for everyone else, you understand, just for me.

The next fact was really, stop-me-in-my-tracks, stunning. Favoritism isn't just a joke that we've had in my family for years. It's not just my mom buying each of us a t-shirt one Christmas saying "Mom's favorite." It's real and has been investigated. There is evidence suggesting that 70% of fathers and 65% of mothers exhibit a preference for one child over another or others, and that often it's a different child for each of those parents. Some of this is influenced, perhaps, by birth order and gender, but some of it may be better predicted by what that parents values are. Well, I won't say anything about who is who's favorite in my story, but I will say that in a family of two parents, and three children, that means that someone is necessarily and mathematically left out at all times. I don't know that it was me; what I do know is that it's interesting that I wasn't making it up when I was heard to say recently, "There's not enough to go around in a family of three children. Two sounds good to me."

But if the question isn't who does this, just who does this in observable ways, then I wonder . . . is this an argument for only-children? I know that Kluger wants us all to see our siblings as the people who helped us learn to develop relationships in ways that impact us over and over in our lives. And I'm not sorry for mine. Hey, I wish my jewelry box didn't get chucked into the heater, making it impossible to retrieve my earrings. But I'm sure my brothers wish I hadn't been such an insufferable know-it-all. I'm not sorry I have them, or the addition of my sister. My therapist put it this way when we discussed my family for other reasons, "If you could change it, how would you be different and would you be giving up things you like about you." Umm, yes. Overwhelmingly. I'm a bothersome, bossy, know-it-all but I like that I can devour information and take it with me. I also like that people can count on me to get things done.

And, I would add, and have already written deeply about this, the facts of my family are these - there was love, but not without issues, and what that has meant for me is that I learned early, I learned profoundly, how to make my way outside of my family. How to not just strike out on my own, but to get wherever I was going and make for myself in that place another family to count on. There is a very real way in which I might not have the friend-families I am so often awed by if I hadn't had the bio-family I was sometimes disappointed by. I wouldn't give that up. I just wouldn't.

But, when I think of getting ready to plan kids that I want to raise, I'm no longer as sure that two is the magic number. I have a friend who recently decided to NOT have more children. She has a daughter that she loves magnificently, and when she told me this, she admitted it was "selfish." She said she felt she was supposed to give her child a sibling, and I countered that bringing a child into the world not for the fact of him or herself, but to do a job for her firstborn wasn't healthy either. Finally, what she said was, "It's a crap shoot though. I could have another child and they could be close, or I could have another child and they could care less about each other. " Yes . . . and, I would add, all of the reasons she has decided that doing another year of pregnancy, followed by a year of tending to an infant are not what will make her blissful and glowing shouldn't be discounted. When parents are happy, and stable and feel comfortable with the life they're making for themselves, they are undeniably more able to provide content, stable homes for their children. This much I know from my view outside of the parent circle.

All of this is a moot point for me, at this stage, because I am who I am and trying to turn back the clock even as a mental exercise, yields little reliable information but it makes much more deeply interested in the decisions my friends make about kids and building their families, and in the argument for siblings being the other pieces of yourself vs. never having to fight with them in the first place.

Maybe the point is this: my parents were, in a moment that held a world of pressure and lightheartedness all at once (it's impossible to describe the conversations that happen when someone is dying, or how you find yourself in those conversations. It just is.) able to boil each of us down to one, succinct characteristic. They stand in front of us, and for so long, above us knowing us by making choices for us and seeing what came of them. We know each other on a playing field where we all see each other level. Our parents were the soccer coaches, but we were the players. There were different roles in that game, but because I stand level with my brothers and my sister I can see them differently, and as more than one thing. We're all smart. We're all funny. We aren't all athletes, but hey, I'm sorry, I can't be good at everything. (It should be enough that I make award winning soup!) To be sure, we have different gifts and struggles, but there is more of us that is alike, as a unit, than different. Someday my sister and I will talk about being mothers together, and my brother will walk me down the aisle, while the other walks with my mother. I can't deny the power of those relationships, the shared stories are powerful alone.

But, it doesn't change the unanswered question of what I am capable of as a parent. I can't assume I would escape the statistics and manage to somehow not damage my kids through favoritism. It is true that I am often a 1% case when it comes to how medical knowledge understands this person we call Christie, but let's be honest - psychologically it's not hard to trace my path, eh? I suppose, much like my friends who have recently had children, I would have to see how that all plays out. Maybe, like my friend above, I'd discover that having parts of my pre-child lifestyle back were more crucial than raising a second child. Maybe like my other friend I would arrive, within three months, to the conclusion of, "I love this child so much it's indescribable. And, I'm also not a stay at home mom."

Because I really almost certainly can't have children, these choices are unlikely to be thrust on me suddenly by biology. I stand apart, able to consider the logistics of when and how to raise children and bring them into my home, and can probably even choose, to some degree, who they will be and where they will come from. It's a specialized vantage point when considering future parenthood. So, when Kluger puts forth that siblings are the dress rehearsal for your life what I think is, "not having siblings is just a different rehearsal for a different show."

Ok, before I close out, let me say this to all my many, many mommy friends. Whatever moments of favoritism have been in your house or not been in your house, please don't be offended by this. I know you all love your babies in ways I can't possibly fathom. I've seen it in action. I also know better than perhaps anyone else that how you act may or may not match up to every feeling you feel at any given moment. Just think about this talk and this book, that's all.