In defense of Linsantiy and Tebowmania

We live in a cynical world, where deriding failure is more respectable than lifting up those that make the effort.

That is why the phenomenons of "Linsanity" and "Tebowmania" are so important.

So what if they come back to earth? So what if they make a mistake? The fact that Jeremy Lin and Tim Tebow (and plenty of other athletes that work hard and don't take their fans for granted) are people in the spotlight displaying attributes we wish we all had is enough to raise them up.

Someday I hope my kids are humble, hard working, intelligent, generous, have a great sense of humor and are respectful of others. I want people that are succeeding by doing the right thing in the limelight, as examples of what can be accomplished by being a well rounded person.

We spend way too much time as a culture pointing out failure, predicting doom and celebrating outlandish mediocrity. Let's celebrate the people who work to be the best at whatever they do, and remind ourselves that it's okay to lift up those that embody qualities we all wish we had.

Laundry

Memoirs and super successful blogs make writing about your life seem so glamorous or cathartic or even entertaining. But when you don't feel the desire to confront what may (or may not) be going wrong in front of your face, putting it on paper or on a computer screen for the world to see only makes those issues more real, more concrete, more tangible.

Which is why I guess the last several postings have been a) few and far between, and b) a drivel of emotional outbursts and questioning. Despite my best efforts to remain Queen of Denial, looking at the evolution of Make Yourself (or lack there of) belies the fact that there has been something missing.

In high school, I had a chemistry teacher, Mr. Bob Bewell, who was the eccentric, brilliant, nerdy, wonderful father figure of the science department. He of the tie-dyed lab coat is so beloved, a Facebook group dedicated to him and his quotes on life was created by former students. As a teacher and a father, Bewell always said he would try to answer any questions we had.

The one that I'll never forget was one day, the class smart ass (who shall remain nameless because in a class of 26, I'm sure 22-23 of us qualified) asked Bewell what the meaning of life was. He stopped discussing moles or ethelynes or whatever was that day's lecture, thought for a moment, and said, "Laundry. The meaning of life is laundry."

We all chuckled at the response, but he was serious.

"Life is exactly like laundry, because you keep working at it, and by the time you think you're done and you're all satisfied with yourself, you turn around, and there's another pile of laundry."

Well, Mr. Bewell, I've been through the spin cycle a few times since the beginning of 2011. But, in your (nearly) infinite wisdom, you were right.

I left Gannett on March 15 after surviving several "reorganizations" that came down from corporate headquarters. I survived because I was young and cheap, not because Father Gannett valued my skills, my hard work or my time. That was made evident when I had to accept the reorganized version of my job without knowing the days or hours. I went from Monday-Friday, 1:30 p.m. - 9:30 p.m. to Sunday - Thursday, 4 p.m. - Midnight, plus a new commute of 55 miles one way.

Between January 19 and February 4, 2011 I was given a raise, laid off, rehired, demoted and transferred.

And while I was fighting to keep a job that once seemed so promising, it now felt like accepting the position I had already held was a prison sentence. Those who decided not to reapply for their jobs during the reorganization were much happier than those who did stay on. Which told me all I needed to know.

So while working one job, I started interviewing for others. And lo and behold, NJBIZ popped up. All that mattered to me were the time requirements: 8:30-5, Monday through Friday, 20 minutes away. Because that meant a real life. A true, real marriage, with dinners and movies and a social calendar, not just a kiss goodnight and weekends crammed with the rest of life. It didn't matter what the atmosphere was or what the work was.

But as I discovered more about the company, an amazing thing happened. I discovered that I wanted the job for the job itself. I met people who had similar values to me. I found a newspaper that was growing and people loved to work for. It's anti-Gannett (or, maybe a Gannett refugee camp, or maybe even more accurate, a Gannett deprogramming site... there are four defectors in our office now, and more could show up any day).

Anyways, I'm writing again. I'm talking to people outside of the office. I have dinner plans. And I'm more myself than I've been in a very long time. People have told me they hear it in my voice, and see it on my face. Melinda Makes Herself Herself Again.

At the very onset of this blog, I wrote a piece about how The Butler Way says more about my resume than my resume does. And while my resume is more impressive these days, that still rings true. The key to finding value in my previous successes and failures, and to finding value in my work, was to join an office that believes in The Butler Way.

And while they may not line up word-for-word, NJBIZ employees are given a set of values when they begin that are eerily familiar to The Butler Way. Instead of those values being lip-service to appease shareholders and look nice in glossy pamphlets, they are adhered to and believed in. The Butler Way wouldn't work if the players didn't buy into the plan. But they do, and they have back-to-back Final Fours to show it.

I thought it was mere odd coincidence that many of my new co-workers were already pulling for Butler in the 2011 NCAA Tournament (some more than others), but the more I learn about what makes NJBIZ tick, the more I see the overlap in values and the obvious correlation between the school and the newspaper.

Yes, Mr. Bewell, you were right. Life is like laundry. But now, my laundry is sorted, pre-treated for stains, and set to go on a normal schedule. And now I have help.

Classifications

I never thought I'd fall into the cliche of my mid-20's trying to find myself. Yuck. It conjures up images of backpacking through Europe, all sorts of immoral experimentation and lots of excuses people my age can get by using the phrase "I'm finding myself."

But I do feel lost most days. Who am I? And what's really weird, is not too long ago, I had a very strong sense of self. I figured out very recently, though, my former sense of self was wrapped up in classifications. Who I am was routinely defined by who or what I was associated with. I didn't have to do much of the work. But now that I'm an adult, it's all upon me to show the world who I am. Confused yet? I've got a few examples:

I consider my high school years extremely successful and happy (a rare combo for the ages of 15-18 for anyone). I knew who I was: a drug-free, basketball-playing, God-worshiping, saxophone-playing, alto-singing, Green-Bay-Packer-obsessing, Advanced-Placement-A-achieving, nice-to-freakin'-everyone Grafton Blackhawk. Each of those associations meant something positive not just to me, but to the people who saw me associated with these groups. It also meant a positive group of people I was associated with, from the talented athletes (which I wasn't ) to the most brilliant of people (which I'll never be).

When I got to college, things got a little fuzzier, starting with the first rum and coke mixed for me at a party. Well, scratch the drug free part. And I no longer was among the brightest at Butler, nor the most artistic, and definitely not the most athletic, even in my own dorm room. But I still found associations, classifications that made me proud and confident. I was a radio-voicing, video-producing, sorority-starting, fraternity-boy-lovin', super-fan Butler Bulldog. Wearing the Tri Delta letters on my chest (or bag, or rear of sweatpants, etc., etc.) associated me with not only an amazing group of self-starting women on our campus, but women all over the country that raise millions of dollars to help sick children. Who wouldn't want to be associated with that? And my Bulldogs - two Sweet 16's and a National Championship game in the past 7 years - they're national sports media darlings that we get to call our own. And by virtue of paying out my nose for the next 30 years, I am associated with them.

But after college, it gets a lot more difficult to find a definition of self if you've never had to work for it before. That's not to say I didn't work hard during high school or college, but on the contrary, because I had no questions about who I was, I was able to focus all of my energy and deep thinking on my work. Now I feel like I'm in a haze, no, more like a ship, where I'm up on me one day, and super, super down on me the next, because now, really, all I have to associate with is myself.

This sense of loyalty to associations has gotten me in trouble, first with needy, negative hanger-ons in school, and now with bad companies that will use and abuse my talents and my energy without proper compensation, recognition or ability to move up. But that's another rant.

For goodness sakes, I don't even know what my name is right now. On half of my important documents, my last name starts with a C. On the other half, my last name starts with a Q. How should I know who I am when I don't even have a definitive last name?

I'm struggling to show which sides of myself to whom these days. Who needs to see exuberant, optimistic Mel, and who needs to see vulnerable, empathetic Mel? And how do I meld these extremely opposite parts of my personality into one consistent, reliable self that not only the world approves of, but I do too?

For now, I know what I am proud of. I'm proud to be from Wisconsin, the land of cheese, beer and ridiculously nice people. I'm proud to live in New Jersey, land of amazing food, radioactive waste, and radioactive personalities. I'm STILL proud to be a Butler Bulldog, and will be for a lifetime (or at least until I'm done paying back my loans), as well as a lifetime of pride for being a Tri Delta (which seems to increase as the years go by). I'm proud to be a wife, as undomesticated as I am, and I'm proud to be a child of God, even if I don't always remember to live in God's will instead of my own. I'm proud of being tall and blond with all the sunscreen and bad jokes that go along. I'm proud that people consider me a friend, even when I don't realize it.

And at this point, that's about all I've got. There's a lot of details to fill in, and a lot of room for improvement. But hey, I guess that's what Making One's Self is all about.

And maybe I'll just backpack through Europe instead.