Frugal is Fun!

Over the past year we've been saving a lot of money. There isn't really a purpose or goal to it, I suppose it's more so a condition of the economic climate resulting in a conservative approach to finances. We've always lived well below our means, security is important to both of us, but also never really wanted for anything either. It was hard to believe anything could really be cut, until we started assessing where we were spending our money.

We eliminated the cleaning people, doggie day care, Starbucks every morning, the gym and dinner out most nights. I can't tell you the last time I shopped for clothing other than absolute necessities. I have forced myself to burn every candle in my house to the nub and use every bottle of lotion I have before buying new of either (yes, these were compulsive obsessions of mine). I even started taking my shoes to the cobbler. Good as new!

Dinner out has been the biggest compromise, but it's also had the most impact. As a result, we've been staying in and cooking. Which in turn has led to healthy eating and weight loss, and connection. Yes, connection. Frugality has brought us closer, and we've had, dare I say fun with it?  Yes, fun. Like finding alternate uses for things we already have, making the most of leftovers (this word did not used to be in my vocabulary) and seeking entertainment from simple things like books and conversation.

It's like life has slowed down--and I like it here. Simple.

In fact, I am embarrassed that I previously would not think twice about buying several Coach bags in one outing, or blowing 100 bucks on dinner several nights a week. What I have to show for it is a closet full of Coach I can't possibly use and 10 extra LBs.

Oddly, Starbucks annoys me the most. $4.85 for a friggin' latte (more because you sprinkled nutmeg on it). Unbelievable. I like the coffee I make at home with flavored creamer BETTER. And, it costs me $9 for about a month's worth of caffeine addiction.

When did we become so wrapped up in materialistic things? Sure, it's nice to have things, but things don't bring nearly the amount of pleasure that personal connections do--no wonder you always see the poorest people in the world smiling on TV and in pictures.

I'm glad we learned this lesson, without the intention of even doing so.

100

Congratulations (to me) on the 100th post of Born Without a Y!

On average, that's .27 of a post per day or a 73% rant rate.

In celebration of this milestone I am making the commitment to posting once a day for the next 100 days. I figure by the end of 100 days I should have a damn good start to a book and maybe a little more direction in life. I haven't been as consistent lately due to a plethora of "work" (like flying across the country for one hour meetings), but it dawned on me that I should not let my obligations keep me from my passion. And if it is a passion, I can make time for it. Just like I do wine.

Looking forward to a little slice of sunshine each day by way of written refuge.

INFJ?

You'd have to be living under a rock to not know that I have been on a path of self-discovery the past few years. The fact that I have opted to share this journey with the general public through various blogs has been selfish in a sense as it for some reason has provided me an outlet to understanding and a release from the battles in my head.

And now I know why.

As well as the answer to several other things such as why I'm not satisfied (and frequently frustrated) in my job, why social situations exhaust me even though I frequently organize them, and why my boyfriend can't seem to marry me.

God, otherwise known as "Martha" (God is relative) recommended a book a few months ago called Please Understand Me, Too. Turns out, it's actually Please Understand Me II, minor detail. Never a fan of self-help books, I for some cosmic reason nonetheless bought the book.

It starts off with with an exercise called the Keirsey Temperment Sorter, which is essentially a Myers-Briggs test. I know, I know, something you had to take in college to tell what you had to be in life. But this was a little different.

On the drive home from Thanksgiving we decided to do the exercise--eight hours to kill, why not? We did the man first, and while his type didn't come as too much of a surprise, some of the traits, behaviors and ideals of the type were eye-opening. More on that another day.

Then it was my turn. And yes, this post is all about me.

In the temperment sorter, there are basically four types--Guardians, Artisans, Idealists, and Rationals. There are then four roles within each of these types and all are determined by the four little letters you test as--I(ntorverted) or E(xtroverted), N(tuitive) or S(ensing), F(eeling) or T(hinking), and J(udging) or P(erceiving). Long story short, at the end of the exercise you end up with four letters, a type and a role.

Me, I'm an INFJ. Idealist--Counselor.

Um, no. That cannot be right. I must have done it wrong. Introvert? Feeling versus Thinking? Who is this person?

So in true Courtney fashion of seeking the "true", I went back and reviewed all of my answers. I explored how I would have scored differently on answers I was unsure about (even though the test is designed to sort discrepancies). It evened me up a touch in a few areas, but in the long run nothing led to a greatly different outcome thus the original "INFJ"was genuine.

Well, then. At first, I just wrote it off. Whatever, it just wasn't right.

But over the next couple of days out of curiousity (and in need of an explanation as to how this could have possibly been the result), I started reading about the Type in the book and online. I also read about the possible variations based on those "could-go-either-way" answers--i.e. an ENFJ, ESFJ or an ISFJ--and found I did have some characteristics of all of them (I later found out that you can be one Type, such as an INFJ, but have preferences in some areas that lean toward other Types).

Slowly, in the course of my reading and internalizing the outcome I began to come to a realization. And that is, that I have not been living life as me. Seriously. Once I accepted it, and began to look at things from a different perspective it was crystal clear and one of the most profound ah ha! moments in my 32 years.

I tested to who I really am. I live my life by what I feel I have to be.

And now I'm crying, again. Been a lot of tears this week, mostly of joy and some of how the hell could this have happened? Folks, this a game changer. Imagine waking up one day and someone telling you that what you thought was red your whole life is actually blue. That's about where I am right now.

For about a week, I've been pondering the experience, not wanting to make the mistake of changing directions based on a silly test. What has happened is that the more I think about it, the more I see the truth in it and how it's been demonstrated through past event and situations of my life. I did also seek professional counsel about it with God, who validated the result and talked me through the variations and applications. Not such a silly test.

While there were a lot of personally recognizable traits in the INFJ type, the biggest discrepancy in my test result versus "who I am" was the lack of "dutiful, responsible, controlling" traits. As a "J", some of these characteristics are innate, but I expected them to be the most dominant versus a side-bar.

Truth is, I'd rather NOT have control. As is evident in the simple example of my consistent inability to make a decision as to where to go for dinner. But as a "J", I do like structure and closure--couple this with my "N" and it makes me the rare (as I now know) combination of a "doer" and a "dreamer".

I was also a non-believer in the Introvert outcome. I mean c'mon. I host parties, speak in front of large groups of people and in general am pretty sociable.

Truth is, I am more fulfilled by what's inside of me than the external, but I like people and am extremely adept in relating to them (hence the assumption I was an extrovert). That's the "I" and the "F" in me. By the way, throw away of your definitions of Extrovert and Introvert. They do not mean "gregarious and social" or "shy and conservative"- it's more about how you approach and process, and ultimately where you get the greatest fulfillment.

I could write a book (wait, not a bad idea) of all the realizations and explained situations I have come to understand (and why I went the opposite of true self in the first place), but you are probably not that interested and the bottom line is this:

Understanding myself has lifted a 700 lb weight from my shoulders and it is a truly liberating feeling--hence the tears of joy. It has validated my deepest feelings about myself and brought them to the surface. What I wanted to be is actually who I am (is that irony?). And this is only the beginning.

Any why do I tend to share this deeply personal and profound insight on a blog? Because, and I quote, "usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills".

Imagine that.

P.S. Click for more on the Keirsey Temperment Sorter and Please Understand Me II. And if you just want to read about me, go here for the short version and read the article at the bottom. Oh, and if you'd like to talk to God, I can arrange that too.

Alternatives to Jail

You know your life sucks when your to do list (what, you don't have one?) has the word "ridiculous" in the heading. I have since added "entirely attainable" as a sub-head, but since I'm deceiving myself it's entirely transparent that it's bullshit.

What's funny, is it's not the 80% of my day that has me in a tizzy but the other 20%. I am BLESSED...really, seriously...with an amazing Client group that I and my equally amazing team support. They, collectively, are the only reason I get out of bed in the morning. Yes, I love them ALL that much. It's the rest, the crap on the fringe (or the "fuzz" as I described it to my equally angry and frustrated team member) that makes me want to slam through the glass windows of my third floor office. Not killing myself of course, but injuring to the point of required hospitalization. And guaranteed Lortab.

But I float on. Why? Because in general, it's not that awful. I just have an extremely low tolerance for stupidity. Couple that with arrogance and I will, without question, find a way to hurt you. I am working toward managing the limitations of others effectively, but outside of eliminating the offenders I have yet to find a better solution.

I am open to ideas. I prefer not to go to jail.

All Over the Map

My head, that is. Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full and upright locked position.

Physically I was literally across the map last week, when that Paula Deen bitch took my first class seat, but I am now grounded in one location as my head explores many--at one time. You know an outlet is needed when your significant other masters the art of relevant replying to incessant questions and comments and you believe they hear you. And care.

I'm crazy busy at work. Always, this time of year. Tis' the season. Incredibly, people who work with me (outside of my team and the client) can't comprehend why. Answer: Because I do my job--the way it's supposed to be done. So, loads of stress and late nights working. They actually shut the lights out on me tonight. At first I had visions of being attacked in the parking lot. Then, I thought, wow, that would get me out of conference calls tomorrow. Sad, I know. Kinda like when I hope for an accident on the way to the airport. It's called loss of perspective, and it takes two weeks off at Christmas to get it back.

But not this year. Thanks to my newly discovered ability to reclaim sanity, I understand balance. Ok, a little. This isn't as easy as it looks. Yes, I still get the jitters and yes, I can barely walk because my back hurts so bad, but mentally I know, "it's just recruitment advertising."  

As the streaming video of stress pixelates and buffers in my mind, I am also conflicted about the Yanks and the Phils, which I have been faithfully watching every night. I grew up in Bucks County, about 40 miles outside of Philly. But my mother was born and raised a Yankee fan, and subsequently I was taught to love them. My sister bailed when she got married, said she "didn't want to fight." Smart I suppose, but then again I was lucky enough to find a man who likes sports, but is nowhere near obsessed (kinda like my Dad, another post for another day). Instead, he teaches me the science of the game. Ah, a smart man. Anyway, I suppose I'm secretly pulling for the Phils, if only because those other arrogant jerks make too much money and sleep with way too many hot women to get my support. Especially the muppets, i.e. Jeter and A-Rod.  You know they look like muppets. Admit it.

Of course there is the pending arrival of my niece. I can't wait to meet her, any day now. Every time my phone rings I think something's up. It's exciting and nerve wrecking all in one and I'm not even the one giving birth (red flag, BRIGHT red flag). The evening before my Godson from another mother--yep, that's right and I could not be more honored--was born, I talked to Mommy after not connecting for a few weeks. I just KNEW that once we talked he would come. And of course he did, at 3am nonetheless. So I'm just waiting for that similar feeling for Ellie's arrival. I love, love, LOVE the babies in my life, but every now and then I secretly fear I will become Weird Aunt Courtney. The woman with all the cats. But I'll be hot.

Finally there is the move. Yep, I have to be out by December 31st. Where am I going? That would be an EXCELLENT question, one I am no where near qualified to answer at this time. I'm in denial. Not about my drinking. About my move. I'll focus on both in the coming weeks, promise.

So there you have it. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to My World. Local time is who the hell knows. For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until Captain Crazy turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. This will indicate that we have come to a complete stop and she has found her way once again.

Helloooo? Anybody out there.

I've been on vacation from blogging. Not an actual vacation, but since my man has commanded the full attention of my Mac, all I have is this horrible Dell that might as well be the Devil. Let's just summarize by saying I have ZERO desire to open it up and use it after 7pm.

But alas, I am on the road, left coasting, which would be cool if I had the energy to do more than order room service and watch a movie. Which is precisely what is on the agenda the evening (plus wine). But first, a little catching up with my passion.

All day every day I think of anecdotes, observations and other general crap to write about, but the act of actually opening up the computer and putting it on (digital) paper doesn't happen. During the day, it's called my job. At night, it's called the computer is associated with the job therefore we do not spend more time together. I need a little computer-notepad-jotty thing that I can quickly type out a post on and feel the release.

And it's a shame these thoughts in my head don't make it out in the open, because I am a professional observationist and there is a whole lot out there to be observing. I've been living in the moment. Something I am slowly, painfully teaching myself to do. This is the alternative to planning every event of your future and then gulping spoonfuls of disappointment when it doesn't go the way you imagined.

When you live in the moment, you have much more appreciation for life in general, even the things that suck (if that's possible). "Easy going" is not a term frequently used to describe yours truly, I assure you, but I am trying it out and guess what? I love it.

Yes, my mind is still light years ahead of the present, but I've learned to tell it to shut up and focus on what's happening this minute. Life can be really entertaining if you stop, look and listen.

For example....yes, I had to get up early, sit on plane I was certain would crash for four hours and then work a full day once I landed. But, NOW, this moment, I am enjoying writing, and excited about watching a movie and blissfully passing out by myself for twelve glorious hours of slumber in my hotel room paid for by the company.

I am not thinking about the meeting that promises to be difficult tomorrow, or the long flight home...just the beauty of this evening's enjoyment.

And I'm happy. There's a lesson in here somewhere.

Sister Courtney

Catholic, I am. Practicing, I am not. Until recently that is. My sister is pregnant, and naturally I am the godmother of my unborn niece. A requirement of this duty, beyond being an active part of the child's life and giving her lots of money for college, is that I obtain a letter from my parish stating that I am in fact a practicing Catholic.

Great. Admittedly I looked for loophole, a way to work around this. I found none. But it was more my guilty conscience (told you I was Catholic) preventing me from succeeding than anything else. So I did what I was supposed to--I went to church.

My boyfriend was kind enough to go with me, because, yes, I was afraid. Very afraid. When we arrived, I sat in the back of the church.  However, being the naturally curious and engaged man that he is, he wanted to sit up front - like 5 pews from the altar. "As long we're doing this, let's do it right" is what he said.

Right? I was doing it right, according to my family church practices. This is what my father would do when we were kids so we could escape after communion and"beat the crowd". I think he was just fearful for his unholy self in the presence of Catholic Angry God for too long.

So we did. And I was terrified. Not an exaggeration. I think I actually cried a little. I felt the eyes of Jesus on the Cross boring into me, judging, for having been a bad Catholic. I felt the eyes of the Parishioner's behind me drilling holes in the back of my head. Naturally they knew I hadn't been to mass since Reagan was President.  But most of all I felt scared to death that I wouldn't remember the Catholic dance -- sit, stand, kneel -- and there were not enough people in front of me that I could follow to fake it.

Then mass started. Like riding a bike, immediately I knew the responses, the  words, the motions, the feeling. Then I actually started to like it. Yes, I did. Church can be comforting when going of one's free will and not forced because you're seven or it's some major holiday (that miserable girl was in the pew across from me with her 12 siblings because he parents don't believe in birth control).

I mean, what's better than being forgiven of all of your sins in the first ten minutes of a mass, just like that? We Catholics do it right. I started to relax, participate, and appreciate it. Until I had to take communion, that was my last hurdle. I literally shook as I walked up the aisle because again, Father was going to know. I  stood strong, looked him right in the eye, took my stale, blessed bread, and exhaled. But there was no way I was drinking out of the community cup--H1N1 you know.

I never thought going to mass would be so traumatic for me. I surely never thought I would, all in all, enjoy it. In the end, I felt great about doing it--for myself and my niece--and I know I will go again and not just because it's a requirement.

Imagine that. God works in Mysterious Ways (not Bono, although he thinks he's God).