the shakes

One of the weirdest things about my move to California is that it’s actually changed my dreams. Lately I’ve been having the most bizarrely realistic dreams about earthquakes – almost as if I’m having one of those dreams where I feel like I’m falling and actually wake up, but instead the world is shaking under my feet and I wake up feeling like I’m trembling. We haven’t had any real earthquakes – at least not strong enough to feel – but a coworker of mine told me that the easiest way to tell if there’s been a tremor is if the frames get crooked. I’ve noticed my gallery wall is off-kilter a couple times, and am choosing to attribute that to tremors (rather than to Dave’s/my tendency to slam our bedroom doors!).

The newest one, though, is about the hills. I’ve driven a fair amount in San Francisco over the past few weeks, and some of the hills are so steep that, at the bottom, all I can do is look up incredulously, laugh, and hope to God my Civic doesn’t crap out halfway up. The visual of houses going straight as we all tilt up is a complete mind-bender, one I don’t know that I’ll ever grow accustomed to.

For the last several nights, I've dreamed I was driving us (not sure who, but there are others in the car, of course) up one such hill, so tall and so unbroken by cross-streets that the top wasn’t visible from the bottom. We were going up and tilting at a more and more dramatic angle, and all of a sudden it was like the angle had gotten too steep for the car to handle. In the dream, we flipped straight backward and started just free-falling back down the hill, as if the earth itself had fallen away from us. I woke up actually shouting in panic last night and had to get out of bed for a solid twenty minutes in the middle of the night to calm myself down.

It’d be nice to be able to dream about, I don’t know, wineries and fresh-squeezed orange juice or something. I guess my insane subconscious has to remind me it’s not all sunshine and 75 degrees here, or something.

Ending on a funny note…

A few weeks ago when Jonathan was in town, we were discussing earthquakes on the way up to Napa with Tyler. Jonny was curious, so I explained it the way the aforementioned coworker had – that the regular quakes are seldom more than a 3 on the Richter scale, and that it takes about a 5 before people really feel it. From there, it exponentially increases – a 7 will “really rock things,” as she put it.

Jonathan, being Jonathan, immediately goes, “IT’S LIKE A DICK. You don’t feel 3 inches, but you notice it at 5 and a 7 will rock your world!” Tyler chimed in with the absolute mot juste: “It’s like the Dickter Scale!” I died laughing, and every time I think about that little exchange, nightmares about hills and quakes seem a lot less traumatic after all.

Life at Stanford: a few pinch-me moments.

At present, I’m four days in at Stanford, and while I historically haven’t written much about my employers on social media, I’m basically a walking heart-eyes emoji here so far, and that’s kind of forcing me to change up the game a little bit.

First off, a fun fact that was shared with us at our new-hire orientation/”Welcome Day” on Monday: In the past twelve months, Stanford has had 2,000 jobs posted on their careers site. For those 2,000 openings, over 150,000 applications were submitted. Assuming all those jobs have been filled (they haven’t), that makes the hire rate at Stanford only 1-2%. The acceptance rate for this year’s incoming freshman class: 4-5%, depending on a few different metrics. It’s officially harder to become a Stanford employee than a Stanford student. (Not like I’m, you know, bragging or proud of myself or anything. NAHHH.)

The head of University HR spoke at this orientation, and the phrase with which she opened shot chills down my admittedly basic, cliché-loving spine: “This will call upon the best that’s in you.” Stanford is an organization with a culture in which innovation is not a bonus, but a byword. Expectations of excellence across the board are taken for granted, and every single person I’ve encountered thus far is formidably, intimidatingly intelligent. Along those lines, being your own best person is a given, and the university provides incredible support to make that possible. For instance, we get an $800 budget semi-annually to spend on continuing education – aka actual Stanford for-credit classes. That money, if not used, is lost, and since I’m starting late in the game, I basically have to burn through my first-half allowance by August 31. What’s a girl to do? Sign up for Great Opera Performances on Mondays, Innovation of World Class Museums on Tuesdays, and History of Wine (which comes with a Napa field trip mid-quarter!) on Wednesdays, obviously. I’m beyond excited to be a student again – to keep up my French studies, take business classes, and explore other disciplines just for the hell of it. Being able to call myself a Stanford student? For free? Someone please actually pinch me.

And that’s the tip of the iceberg. Stanford’s health and wellness program is comprehensive…my health insurance cost is 100% free in-network, including well visits, prescriptions, and dental/vision. As employees, we’re invited to complete a full holistic health and wellness survey annually, and to follow that up with a free screening and counseling session on how to reduce stress, eat better, and set/meet fitness goals. That screening and plan establishment is incentivized by up to $800 in cash bonuses, just for joining and participating in the program. We can also take a variety of wellness classes…fitness, nutrition, stress management, interpersonal skills, etcetera – at a heavily subsidized rate. I’ll be taking yoga every Friday over lunch and starting my day every Thursday with bootcamp, and am taking a few seminars in meal planning, sleep therapy, and mindfulness…all before September.

Most significantly, and delightfully – my coworkers are, so far, amazing. The tradition in the finance group is to greet every new hire with a brunch welcome party on his or her first day, and to introduce the entire department all at once. I’ll admit, I was completely overwhelmed on Tuesday to meet over 75 people in one hour-long period, but I’ve since been bowled over by their effort to be inclusive and welcoming. The number of people who have offered to help me figure out the coffee machine, find the supply rooms, navigate the intranet, or explore the area’s lunch options has outpaced any (paltry) expectation I had. My bosses are also both fantastic, encouraging me to spend the first week experimenting and exploring as I see fit and to guide myself through the onboarding process at my own pace.

My first impression of Stanford came together at lunch on Tuesday – an all-department retirement party for a woman who had worked for Stanford’s finance group for a whopping 43 years. As we ate paninis and cake, a dozen or so of her coworkers, direct reports, old bosses, and the leadership of the university’s finance teams gave speeches that were rife with inside jokes, Stanford legends, and paeans of praise for her commitment to this place. The retiree in question was in tears by the end of the first toast, and the rest of the room soon followed suit. I couldn’t help but look around, kind of shocked at the level of emotion and pride that this place inspires in people. Maybe I’m hopelessly romanticizing things, or maybe my Day 3 starry-eyed excitement to actually be here and be a part of this is clouding my judgment…who knows? All I know is that if I actually did pinch myself every time I had a “pinch-me” moment, I’d be black and blue all the way up both arms. I remain immensely humbled and grateful for this opportunity, and cannot wait to see how Stanford calls upon the best that’s in me as I move forward.

Goodbye, Minneapolis

As you read this, my mom and I are somewhere in western Minnesota or South Dakota, in a black Honda Civic packed to the gills with three suitcases, two lamps, a potted plant, and every article of clothing that was once hanging in my Loring Park walk-in closet. I said goodbye to the Twin Cities this morning, although it feels like I've been saying goodbye for a lot longer. 

Since I decided on this move, I've been thinking so much about Minneapolis. How this city has defined and shaped me for the last six years as a young adult, but really for my entire life. I had an almost out-of-body moment en route between goodbye parties last Friday, when I passed the building where I started my professional career at Ernst & Young. The café table where I sat the morning of my job interview was vacant, and I could almost see myself...black Calvin Klein suit, turquoise silk blouse from J.Crew, headphones in and my pump-up playlist blasting as I sipped a Caribou cold press. I remember feeling like my whole life was about to start that morning, and I imagined it all taking place right there. 

To think that I'm taking such a sudden, intentional left turn and leaving this city, this state, behind...it's a bit mind-boggling. I will miss so much about Minneapolis. I will miss how it feels like I can get anywhere in half an hour or less. Similarly, I will miss being able to see the skyline from half an hour away in almost any direction, thanks to Minnesota's prairie flatness. I'll miss the stillness of the Lakes on a summer morning, and the sunsets over Loring Park. The way the snow squeaks under boots when it gets teeth-hurtingly cold, and watching flaming red sugar maple leaves fall on Cathedral Hill in Saint Paul. 

Spoon and Stable happy hours, Tattersall's patio, and exploring new restaurants with friends and family. The moment when Erin Keefe tunes the Minnesota Orchestra, or settling into the rose velvet seats at the Ordway for another opera. The view from the Endless Bridge at the Guthrie. Baking in the sun at Target Field every summer, and watching Notre Dame games with friends at the Crooked Pint (actually, I WON'T miss the Crooked Pint at all...). And honestly, those friends, and my family. These are the things I'm intentionally giving up in leaving here, and when I stop to really think about that, it's a bit gut-searing. 

I just realized that 3rd Street downtown becomes Central in Nordeast. Isles Bakery, my favorite little breakfast hole in the wall, isn't so little anymore after an expansion. Continually realizing and discovering little gems like that make me happy, and remind me that there is still so much about this city that I don't know and haven't explored. 

While I am incandescently excited to take this next step, I can't deny how bittersweet it feels to close this specific chapter. Saying goodbye (for now?) to the city that has played such a huge role in shaping who I am today breaks my heart, but makes me incredibly grateful to have had those moments. Four apartments, one broken heart, numerous friends, one first date at a VFW, too many cocktails, 57 Guthrie shows, two jobs, three promotions, and myriad adventures later, I think that I can comfortably say that the girl waiting in the lobby for her EY interview would be excited and proud and thankful to be where she is today. I am. And though I'm so excited for the next chapter in California, I'm completely okay with saying "Au revoir" instead of "Adieu" to the Twin Cities. 

Til we meet again, you lovely.

MinneapoLiz's Next Chapter

Surprise! I'm moving! I'm moving to San Francisco! 

The SparkNotes version: 

Who: me (and future roommates Laura and Dave)

What: MOVING

Where: San Francisco/Bay Area (Palo Alto-ish, to be specific)

When: June 1!

Why: ...see below.

The worst-kept secret in the Twin Cities is finally out, and I am ecstatic, giddy, terrified, discombobulated...you name it, I've felt it over the last FIVE months. 

It all started in late January, when I was browsing a website of national opera job postings. The San Francisco Opera had a role open for a production accountant, and I, fresh off the holidays in the Bay Area/wine country, applied before I had even really thought about it. Then I found out that life coach/dear friend Laura had accepted a job at Facebook (nbd), and our mutual friend Dave had matched for a medical fellowship at Stanford (also nbd, my friends are really dumb). They would both be in the Bay Area starting late spring/early summer. 

Despite the lack of success in landing an opera job, suddenly, my on-a-whim desire to relocate seemed not soooo totally out of left field, and I spent a few weeks in February soul-searching. Could I do this? Could I really completely uproot my life, for very little apparent reason, and relocate to the West Coast? 

While this space is 90% sunshine and roses...while I do my very best to present the happiest, brightest possible picture of my life in writing, the truth behind the blog screen is that I've been pretty unhappy for the last several months in the Twin Cities. 2017 has brought increasing stagnation in the actual work part of my job, leaving me frustrated and bored for a large portion of every work week. My social life has really fragmented, with unnecessary angst and drama with friends increasingly leaving me left out of social functions or, at best, an afterthought. While I count myself lucky to have a few of the best people in the world by my side here, socializing at large has gotten harder and less satisfying (my favorites obviously excepted). And relationships? HA, let's not even start that one. Dating in the Twin Cities has been incredibly hard for me...the community is small and insular, most men I've gone out with have been horrifying mismatches on numerous levels, and I'm finding it near impossible to actually connect with guys. 

By the end of that soul-searching period in February, I realized that I'm not content anymore to be comfortable and accept mediocrity. I could sit in this job for ten more years, hang out with the same group of people drinking and watching sports in the same basement on Saturday nights, eat at the same five (amazing) restaurants, visit the same theaters and see the same orchestra. As ungrateful as that sounds...my life IS wonderful...it's not good enough for me anymore. 

The more Laura and I talked, the more it seemed like I could do this. So we texted Dave...and the wheels were set in motion for ND Band Bay Area Family House, as Dave dubbed it. She house-hunted in March, we signed a lease in early April, and I've been job-hunting pretty hard since February. I was out there last week for a final round with an organization I'm really excited about, and I'm hopeful that I'll have good news to share soon on that front. Laura moved into our brand-new, very fancy and fabulous apartment complex in April, and I'm in the process of packing up and getting organized to make my own move in June. Dave will be out at the beginning of July...which will 100% for sure guarantee ridiculous stories and shenanigans galore.

This is a move of epic proportion for me, and is incredibly out of character. I am the kind of careful, Type-A, risk-mitigating person who never leaps without looking, who always has a plan (and a backup plan). I am not the kind of person who one would ever describe as "devil-may-care," "spontaneous," "adventurous." For me to be moving across the country, with no job in pocket (yet! fingers crossed!), and really no true plan, is akin to jumping out of a plane without a parachute. To be honest, I still don't entirely know what impetus ultimately drove me to take this very not-Lizzie leap. But I do know that it's necessary, and it's exciting, and it's right. 

I need the challenge of being totally out of my comfort zone. I need to not be a big fish in a very small pond anymore. I need to force myself to take risks, to live more boldly, and to keep building a life I'm proud of and excited to wake up to every day. And while San Francisco may not be the panacea for the problems I've found myself facing lately, it's sure as hell going to jump-start me...in all the best ways. 

So, long story short, stay tuned! While I haven't decided if I'm going to rename the blog (MinneapoLiz becomes SanFranLizco, maybe?!)...but I will for sure be sharing as much as I can find time to over the next several weeks as I prep for the move. And once I'm out there, it's no holds barred on adventures, and adjustments, and all that jazz. 

EEEEEEEEK! 

101 in 1001 #80: Go on a date.

Planning on spending the rest of this week wrapping up my first 101 in 1001, before I launch full speed ahead into my second list...check it out here! 

As it's Valentine's Day, what could be more appropriate than talking about my love life/lack thereof? WARNING: Brutally honest post ahead here. And I'm not trying to be a downer, or to throw a pity party...just to be completely candid about some of my experiences in the last few years. Please be gentle :)

"101 in 1001 #80: Go on a date." You guys. UFF DA. 

When I put this item on my 101 in 1001 back in May 2014, I was less than a month out of a relationship that I thought I knew, bone-deep, was going to end in marriage and kids and a Millennial happily-ever-after. Looking back, the old adage “Hindsight is 20/20” proves true in more ways than one, and without my rose-colored glasses on, I can see that that was never really the case with that relationship – it was flawed, in fundamental ways that I had blithely ignored for far too long. So I threw “go on a date” on my bucket list, never really thinking twice about it…and yet, thinking constantly about it.

Now here we are, nearly three years out from that cataclysmic shit-storm of a breakup, and I’ve been intentionally silent on my love life for so long. The more-than-casual observer may have noticed this line sitting on my 101 in 1001…lurking there just waiting for me to check it off. And here’s the funny thing: I have. I just haven't bothered to tell pretty much anyone.

I’ve checked it off in so many ways. In weird coffee dates, in drinks with a maybe-not-so-friendly-friend, in torrid long-distance texting relationships that blew up in my face or never advanced off the iPhone screen. In confusing, ambiguous, best-night-of-my-life outings that require hours of dissection after the fact with my best friends. In hope, and in the complete sense of futility that comprises the flip side of that coin.

How naïve of me, in hindsight, to think that adding “Go on a date” to this list would cover the weird, stressful, what-the-fuck gamut of my love life post-Jon. I have, in actuality, very little experience with dating. Relationships, yes. I’m the kind of girl/young woman/lady who prefers the monogamous, defined, structured life of being with someone and knowing that person is with me in equal measure. Love? Yes, I think so. I love too easily and too quickly, and have learned the hard way that loving doesn’t guarantee a return on investment. But dating? No, not so much.

So what’s a girl to do? I tried Match.com for about a week, and had stress-panic reactions every time I opened it to find dozens of strangers winking and messages flying around. I picked out flattering pictures and wrote a tongue-in-cheek, charming-but-sarcastic bio…or so I thought. In hindsight, I came off like a snide bitch, and never really got comfortable with the whole interface.

I downloaded Tinder, and treated it like a game…sort of a romantic “gotta catch’em all” type deal. I answered perversion and crudity with snark and willful obfuscation. I was called a bitch, propositioned in graphically sexual ways, and generally insulted on a whole bunch of fronts. And without fail, I would freak out, delete the app, and then download it again (usually drunk) for another go. I went on a Tinder date, once, and it was a completely appalling mismatch of personalities on every fundamental level. I’ve never dipped a toe in again.

I tried out Bumble, went on a string of horrific, comically bad dates, and choked as soon as I realized I am pathologically incapable of making the first move, even over a freaking iPhone app. I did, however, appreciate the irony of seeing men on Bumble and on Tinder, and of comparing the way they presented themselves on those platforms. Definitely an interesting sociological experiment, if nothing else. 

Then there are the friends, or the friends of friends. I’ve always believed that it takes knowing me to appreciate me – I’m not generally a candidate for the “love at first sight” approach. I’ve had a few different…”things”…with people who are part of my social circle. The funny thing is, in the past few years, these things have all started over text. I’m best in text, I think. The written word is my strongest tool for seduction, which I suppose makes me some sort of smaller-nosed, less-rhyming modern-day Cyrano. In text, I am witty and charming and much more forward than in person. In person I demur and dissemble, hiding how uncomfortable I am behind a smile and an agreeable laugh.

These textual sexual romantic uncertain things, therefore, are my comfort zone. Rendered, I believe, even more comfortable by the fact that they happen at a distance – not just the distance of the phone, but the distance, in many cases, of state lines or time zones. Some have fizzled back into friendships, given enough time and space. Others took the leap into in-person interaction and absolutely exploded in my face. Still others are ongoing, comfortable in their ambiguity and non-threatening in their lack of proximity.

Long story short: I have checked off “Go on a date,” and so many accompanying subtexts. I have checked off the unwritten item “Get over the former love of your life.” I have checked off “Kiss someone new,” and then some. I have checked off “Get over the fear of putting yourself out there.”

What I haven’t checked off? The “and” behind the “Go on a date.” “Go on a date, and go on another date, and another date, until you are, as they say, dating a person.” “Go on a date, and fall in love.” “Go on a date, and find a relationship.” “Go on a date, and become half of a couple again.” “Go on a date, and fit into the societally-accepted timeline and norm for your geographical and socioeconomic bracket by hitting general late-twenties milestones.”

It’s hard, to look at those hypothetical implied line items, and not feel like a giant failure. Some kind of Havisham wanna-be hiding out in my downtown apartment with my champagne and excuses. I am twenty-eight years old, and I am alone. And I don’t know what to do about it, or whether I need to do anything about it but just keep doing what I’m doing. Every time I have tried to date, it has failed, and I’m tired of that sense of failure. What I’m not tired of is the full, rich, varied life I lead without a partner in it, and the dozens of other people who lift me up and love me and support me in the place of that as-yet-nonexistent date. Maybe, for me, for now, that’s enough, and that’s okay.

A long while ago, I stumbled on these wise words by Nora McInerny Purmort, who I have adored beyond measure for years now, and it really summed up everything I just tried to say so much better than I can, so we’re going to close with them.

“But what the heck is a failed relationship? One that ends? Nah. Those relationships did what they were supposed to do: they lived to their full potential, small as it may have been. They were mayflies: only here for a short period of time. But they weren’t totally worthless. They’re getting you somewhere, you just don’t know where yet.”