Category — Personal Development

Happy New Year!

So, it’s January. Again? So soon?

I’m becoming one of those people who exclaims frequently, “I can’t believe it’s January!” or “I can’t believe it’s 2012!” or “I can’t believe the Kardashians’ 15 minutes aren’t up yet!” (That last one isn’t totally relevant but still true.)

I don’t generally do New Year’s resolutions because I make too many to-do lists as it is, and Lord knows I don’t want one full of terrible items like “go running more” and “do my taxes before 10 p.m. on April 14.” That’s really a buzzkill way to start a new year. And I hate running.

I did successfully make a few (well, two: get scuba certified and host more dinner parties) resolutions in 2010 by following three rules:

1. They must be fun.
2. They must be flexible.
3. They must not inspire guilt.

I liked those guidelines because they made me choose goals that I was actually excited about, not resolutions that I shamed myself into picking.

This year, I’m trying something different: a one-word New Year’s resolution. A few friends have told me about this idea, and I love it. Instead of writing a laundry list of tasks I want to accomplish (and may resent by February), I am selecting one word to be my theme for the next year. I hope it will help me stay focused on what my priorities are and be a positive, gentle reminder when I get off track.

My word is for 2012 is: Grow.

I would like to grow in:

• My personal relationships
• My work
• My travel experiences
• My foreign language skills
• My culinary endeavors
• My reading
• My support for causes I care about

Just to clarify, I would not like to grow in:

• My waistline
• My road rage
• My Veruca Salt-like impatience

What’s your word for 2012?

I went to my 10-year high school reunion this month (Woohoo, Class of 2001 Dragons! Seniors rule!). Yes, that happened.

Spirit week, 2001

It seems unbelievable that it has been 10 whole years since I moved away from Sonoma, California to join those fabulous lunatics in a little city called New Orleans, but here we are in 2011. Time flew by at warp speed and that small town girl (cue Journey song here) I was at 17 is all growns up. I’m married, I work hard for the money, I’m itchin’ to buy a house and I can throw together a mean dinner party. But to keep things in perspective, I still get carded and hate wearing shoes that aren’t Reef flip-flops, so I’m trying not to get too carried away with this adulthood thing.

Junior prom, 2000

(Note: I’ve been struggling with writing this post for the last couple weeks, and my brilliant friend Sierra inspired me with her post on how she feels about the last 10 years. Fantastic read– I recommend it.)

Senior ball, 2001 (semi-formal attire was too boring)

Spirit week, 2001

Anyway, the official Sonoma Valley High reunion was a lovely affair at B.R. Cohn Winery because we like to keep it classy here in the wine country. There was good wine, good food and a good crowd of people I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was nothing like “Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion,” which is good because there were no mean girls desperately trying to uphold the high school hierarchy but bad because there was no choreographed dance sequence to “Time After Time.” You can’t have everything, I suppose.

Classy times at the reunion

The reunion was a lot of fun, but the real event for me was a champagne brunch I hosted earlier that day with some of my close high school girlfriends. Back in the day, during our last week of senior year, we put together a time capsule to open at our 10-year reunion– a cardboard box we filled with photos, newspaper clippings, videotapes, inside joke lists, surveys and letters we wrote to ourselves. The box has been sitting in my childhood bedroom for 10 years, and it was finally time to crack it open.

Putting together the time capsule, 2001

The great unveiling

Wow. I can’t describe how incredible it was to sit with 10 ladies who have played such an important part in my life and open the magical box. If you think a group of teenage girls is loud and silly and giggly and squealy, you should get a group of 20-something women together and give them a dozen bottles of champagne (ahem, André sparkling wine). It is impressive and terrifying. I laughed until my stomach hurt.

Ridiculousness ensued

Pretty ladies

Highlights:

• Watching the hilarious compilation of video performances dating all the way back to junior high (if you’ve never had the chance to watch “Spice Deception,” you’re really missing out)

• Reading our survey responses out loud. Sophie’s response to “If you could date anyone in your class, who would it be?”: “[Redacted]. He makes me weak in the knees.” My response to “Out of your girlfriends, who would you date if you were a guy?”: “Jules, because she is so pretty, funny, laidback and fun to be around.” (Still true!)

• Breaking out the 2001 yearbook and admiring the ridiculous photo collage we spent way too many class hours putting together

• Trying to remember the dozens of inside jokes we thought were important enough to write down

• Going through piles and piles of photos from every high school event imaginable

• Reading the letters we wrote to ourselves

Watching video works of art

My letter was a five-page manuscript that jumped manically back and forth between being ecstatic to make a fresh start far away from home and being terrified to leave everything familiar behind. OMG, will I make friends as awesome as my Sonoma people? Will I find a job I love? Will I get married and have kids? Will I fail at life and die alone? At 27, I can be overanalytical and obsessive from time to time, but 17-year-old me needed to take it down a notch.

Teenage girlness aside, it is fascinating to read about my fears and dreams and goals and see which ones stayed constant and which changed over the years. Here are a few excerpts:

Am I still in touch with my high school friends? Actually, by this time, my college friends too? I really hope so. I know I will lose contact with people over the years, but I hope not the important ones. If I’m reading this right now, I assume that we’re at least all together again for our 10-year reunion. Who has changed the most? The least? Is Heather famous? Or Katie? Do we look a lot different or older? I hope we aren’t above having dance parties.

You’re so wise, Mini Me. I’m happy to say that I do keep in touch with the wonderful friends I’ve made over the years, and those relationships are incredibly important to me. Really, what could be more important? And we’re never above dance parties.

So grown up, so fabulous

[On my ideal man] Let’s see: hilarious, intelligent, sarcastic, easygoing, romantic, considerate, good with kids, adventurous, beach-loving, handsome, a musician and a dancer. Hmm… is that too much to ask? It’s crazy to think that in 10 years, I could actually be married, with kids even. Do I have kids? I hope they look a little Asian– hapa kids are so cute.

I have to say, I’m pretty good. The musician/dancer piece is the only part that might be a little off, but Brian does play the trumpet, have mad karaoke skills and know how to cut a rug on the dance floor. And though we don’t have any, hapa kids really are so cute.

Where am I living now? Did I travel like I wanted to? I hope I can live on the East Coast for at least a year, and I plan on spending time abroad. My junior year, I want to spend the year or the semester in Paris. I hope I can get my French up to standard. Did I ever get the guts to do the Peace Corps? I love the idea of living in some country completely different from the US, teaching and learning, but it’s two whole years… When it comes to marrying and having kids, I think I’d like to live in Northern California. I really love it… But I think I need to live in Hawaii at least once in my life.

Well, I never made it to live on the East Coast or join the Peace Corps, but I did spend a semester in Paris, teach abroad and live in Hawaii. As for settling in Northern California, plans change. New Orleans won my heart, but I still stay true to my NorCal roots. It’s been a crazy 10 years, and I feel like I should write myself another letter to open in 2021.

SVHS girls, I love you all and hope we can get together again soon, on one continent or another. What should we put in our 20-year reunion time capsule?

All you other beautiful people, did you go to your high school reunion or are you planning on it? Thoughts? Comments? Judgments?

I am a couple of steps closer to thinking of Kailua as home, and it is a damn good feeling.

I spent two weeks on the mainland in June– two glorious weeks with family and friends in the Bay Area and Portland that made me wish more than once that I had extended my trip. Hey, I work from home; what’s stopping me from escaping reality for two months instead of two weeks? I could easily get used to going to movies at the Sebastiani Theatre with my parents, eating my mom’s home cooking, grabbing beers with my fantastic high school friends and San Francisco posse.

Painting the town red with the ‘Noma crew

It wouldn’t be a night out in SF without one of these pictures

It felt so comfortable and safe to go home, and I could have coasted through an entire summer in Sonoma. It was tempting, but I knew staying longer would just be an attempt at avoiding starting my life in my new home. I already have a strong support network in California that I can go back to whenever I want; I needed to start building a new one in Hawaii.

In the end, I came back to Kailua just in time for the long Fourth of July weekend, and I’m glad I did. That weekend was a turning point for me– a wonderful balance of outings with new friends and time alone to finish settling into our apartment. Since I got back, I’ve gone sailing in Kaneohe Bay, hosted the first dinner party in the new place (on the table I repainted myself… I’m awfully proud of it and will probably start carrying photos in my wallet) and attended a writers’ group in Honolulu. Life here is pretty good.

Sailing on the Fourth of July

I still have rough patches when I all I want to do is throw some clothes in a bag and fly to San Francisco or New Orleans or whatever port city Brian is in at the moment, but they’re not as frequent as they used to be. I have a mental list of healthy ways of coping with stress or homesickness or general unhappiness (for example, drinking a bottle of Jim Beam and sobbing over the “Army Wives” marathon would not qualify) that I pull from when needed, but I decided to write them out into a physical list. I started this as a project for a friend going through a break-up, and I’ve been expanding it gradually. I’d love to hear more ideas from everyone else.

1. Connecting with my people back home.

After my last post, I received an outpouring of supportive comments and IMs and emails and phone calls from friends and family far away, and I was reminded again just how lucky I am to have these relationships and how important it is to maintain them. The little connections throughout the day– Facebook wall posts, Twitter replies and Google chats (can you tell I work for a Web site?)– keep me sane. The bigger ones– emails, phone calls and, my favorite, video Skype chats– make me bow down and give thanks to the Internet gods. Because of Skype’s magic, I can show Melia in Jackson how we’ve decorated the new apartment and have a good old-fashioned sobfest with Kaila and Jenna in New Orleans.

2. Spending time with new friends.

This transition would have been much harder if I hadn’t met some awesome people right off the bat through Brian’s ship and the few friends we already had here. They have been nothing but welcoming, and it’s pretty amazing to have fun, like-minded friends who are always up for an afternoon at the beach or a night of pizza and sangria.

3. Exercising.

This one doesn’t always happen as much as it should, but getting my heart rate up is the easiest way for me to stop feeling crazy (remember that logic from “Legally Blonde”? “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands.” Word, Elle.). If I go for a swim or a walk at the beach or punch out my aggression with Billy Blanks in Tae-Bo, everything seems a little more manageable.

4. Taking a class or picking up a new hobby.

In the past, I’ve tried to be flexible enough for yoga and responsible enough for financial planning (neither is an easy task for me). Now I’m trying to learn a few chords on the guitar and searching for the right halau to start up hula after an eight-year hiatus. I find the challenge of learning something new, especially something a little difficult for me, is a good way to keep my mind occupied.

5. Doing something creative.

I’m not quite at the point where I use pinking shears and puffy paints for scrapbooking projects, but I do turn to writing and photography and ReadyMade-style decorating when I need a creative outlet. Making something from scratch, even if it’s not a work of art, is cathartic.

6. Exploring.

No matter how homesick I get, I can take comfort in the fact that I keep moving to really cool places. Bottom line: I live in Hawaii and there is no shortage of places to explore. Beaches, art galleries, hiking trails, farmers’ markets, restaurants, dive bars… I’ve got my work cut out for me.

I have a confession to make: I have been looking forward to changing my name since I was a little girl… well, at least since kids in my class discovered that my last name contained a four-letter word and was therefore worthy of mockery. So around sixth grade. Junior high is not kind to the Dickers of the world.

As I’ve gotten older, tougher and wiser, I have embraced my family’s name and have become unfazed by any jokes people may throw my way. There is a long, fine line of Dickers before me, and I am proud to be part of that lineage. I’m sorry, are you giggling? Did I say something funny?

We will always be the Sisters Dicker

For the last few years, I’ve gone back and forth on whether I would change my name or not after I got married. The independent feminist in me said I should keep my maiden name to show I am still my own person with or without my husband. The family-oriented part of me wanted me to hyphenate or take my husband’s name to show unity between us and to make things easier for when we have kids someday.

Well, it turns out I don’t really like the way “Dicker-Burgess” or “Burdicker” or “Dickurgess” sounds. Plus, DMV employees already get testy with me for having a super long name. If I became Gillian Elena Mei Po Dicker-Burgess, they might kill me with their angry, soulless eyes. I decided to make the full change to become a Burgess.

I went to the Social Security Administration and the DMV last week to change my name officially, and I got a lot more emotional about it than I thought I would. I’ve had this name for 25 years, and it has served me well. Brian came with me to both places, waiting patiently and holding my hand in depressing, crowded, fluorescent-lit offices. We went out to lunch to celebrate after Social Security legitimized my new identity as Gillian Burgess. As we toasted over Karl Strauss beers, I told my husband that I’m happy I did it. And I meant it.

Welcome to the Burgi

Changing my name was a hard personal decision, one I thought about a lot before I took the plunge. If I was surprised by my strong emotions on the matter, I was even more surprised by the stronger reactions I received from friends, acquaintances and even total strangers (beyond the expected “wow, it’s going to be awhile before I get used to your new name”).

A few:

• It’s archaic to take the man’s last name and you should keep yours.
• You should definitely hyphenate.
• I think it’s nice when the woman goes the traditional route and takes her husband’s name.
• I’m going to change my name, too, when I get married.
• I would never change my name.
• You’re a terrible feminist and you might as well kiss your freedom goodbye because you are now your husband’s property.

Maybe that last one was more implied than stated outright, but I can read between the lines.

I respect everyone’s opinions, but this experience made it very clear to me that a decision that is good for one woman is not necessarily good for every woman. Taking a new last name or not, having children or not, being a stay-at-home mom or a working mom, traveling the world or settling down and buying a house, all the gray area in between– these are all choices we get to make as individuals. No one can make them for us. And that’s what both thrills and terrifies me about being a woman.

Coming soon… The Name Game, Part II: A How-To Guide to the Tedious, Obnoxious Process of Changing Your Name

I have a habit of going through periods of extreme, massive and sometimes violent change. I don’t, for example, just start a new job or move to a new apartment. Oh, no. That would be too easy. I go, what my friend Gene would call, “balls to the wall” when I shake things up in my life.

Around Christmas a year ago, I got laid off from one job, started a new one, moved from California back to New Orleans, found out that Brian was being deployed to Iraq, went through a number of emotional breakdowns and got engaged… all within a month. This is just how I roll.

OMG, what happened? Where did these rings come from and why am I wearing a blanket with sleeves?

Right now is another one of those times where everything is changing, and I just have to embrace the madness or go mad myself. First step toward sanity: going back home and burning things with my sister. Yep, that’s right. Melia and I have both been moving all over the country, yet we still have boxes and binders and bookcases of old memories left at our parents’ house in Sonoma. Every time I go home, I say I am going to get rid of things I no longer need, but I always find an excuse to put it off to a later visit.

Didn’t get to paint over the hot air balloons this time, but the Sarah McLachlan and Austin Powers posters did come down

Well, it’s finally time. If I’m really going to make the transition into adulthood and marriage, I don’t want to be tied down by pieces of my past I just don’t feel like dealing with.

Signs of progress: cleaning out shelves full of books, photo albums and knickknacks

Melia and I both came home the same week, and we formed a moral support group of two, spending our evenings deciding the fate of stacks of photos and papers and books. I was amazed by what I had kept for the last 10 or 20 years. Why did I hang on to letters that remind me of a time I’d rather forget? Did I really think my high school English paper on “The Kitchen God’s Wife” was worth saving to show my future children? I don’t even like Amy Tan!

We decided a ritual bonfire was the right way for us to let go of the past and move forward. We gathered together the bags and bags of papers we wanted to burn (sadly, photos had to be disposed of another way) and lit a match in the fireplace. In went Melia’s identity as a nonprofit workaholic: Rolodexes, curriculum plans, workshop notes. In went my reminders of being a reserved and over-achieving teenager.

Burn, baby, burn

With every stack, it got a little easier. Notes from my junior high BFFs, angsty teen poetry, senior project writing assignments, college term papers. I watched them all go up in flames, and it was glorious. Let me tell you, there is nothing more freeing than burning your SAT scores.

Anyone who has ever had to write a “dialectical journal” will know the satisfaction I got from burning one

Melia wrote a blog post about our fire, and she captured very eloquently how I felt about our ritual:

Burning the written documentation of your past is much, much more cleansing than dumping it in the recycling bin, or even shredding it. When the flames consume the pages that symbolize your past, your former self and relationships instantly cease to exist. What remains is nothing, and it forces you to relate to people — your best friend from middle school, or your enemy, for that matter — in a completely new way instead of clinging to how things used to be.

I am very different than I was at age 15 or even 20 (thank goodness), and it was a huge relief to erase my old expectations and make a fresh start. The way I celebrate a fresh start is by breaking open a bottle of red wine… and making a new list. Borderline alcoholic, maybe. More-than-slightly nerdy, definitely. But this is a good list, not my normal “holy Christ, I have so much to do and will never finish it all” list. This will be an ongoing fun list…

Fresh Start List #1: A Few Goals for the Near Future

1. Go to Central America and learn Spanish

I love traveling, and it has been far too long since I’ve gone on a down-and-dirty, fit-everything-in-a-backpack, shower-every-now-and-then trip. Summer 2005, to be exact, when Jenna and I took over the Greek Isles. I have always wanted to go to Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras, you name it. I loved Panama when Brian and I went there on our honeymoon, but I hated not being able to communicate beyond my toddler’s vocabulary of “hello” and “thank you” and “I have hunger.” I want to learn Spanish, and I’m comfortable enough with French now that I’m ready to tackle a new language. This summer, I am determined to go on a Central American extravaganza with my girl Angie. Our plan is to go to language school for a few weeks, then spend another month traveling from country to country on buses full of chickens while practicing our new skillz.

September 2005: Jenna has a “Titanic” moment on the ferry from Greece to Italy

2. Take the plunge on new projects

I have a million ideas a-brewin’ in my head at any given moment– business ideas, freelance writing ideas, home decorating ideas, costume party ideas– but a lot of them don’t go anywhere. I get so overwhelmed by wanting to do something perfectly that I never actually do it at all. That needs to stop. If I want to try to build a Web site (or a bookcase or a magazine) from scratch, dammit, I need to give it a shot. The worst that could happen is that it won’t be perfect and that I’ll learn something from the process.

3. Do more things every day that make me happy

I consider myself a fairly happy person. Sure, I stress out over things more than I should sometimes, but when I get carried away, I try to take a step back and keep it all in perspective. Lately, though, I’ve been working too much, working out too little and not making time for a lot of activities that make me really happy. Dancing. Cooking. Swimming. Watching movies. Taking pictures. Speaking French. Writing for fun. The best New Year’s resolution I ever made was freshman year of college when I vowed to go dancing at least once a week. I kept it up until the end of the school year (longer than any other resolution I’ve ever made), and I couldn’t have been happier doing it. I’m making a resolution to make more of these resolutions.

French Quarter Fest 2008: Dancing in the streets with my sis