During the 20+ years I spent in my advertising agency gig, I participated in countless seminars promising the answer to agency and personal success. I completed the multiple-step process required in “Presenters Anonymous.” I was made keenly aware of the details required to craft that perfect creative brief. I was even “Re-engineered” (Yikes!).  

I’ll admit that these programs provided some important learning.  However, what I believe is the most important driver of success (and that often elusive sense of well-being), both agency-wide and within yourself is learning how to build and maintain solid and positive client and internal agency relationships. Yes, relationships are everything.

“Build positive relationships?” Duh, right? Agency and Life 101.  But often a good relationship is a missing element. And lacking this, great work unravels, complications occur, and partnerships snap. And man, it’s tough sometimes. Agency folk are basically in relationships with people often very different from themselves in terms of goals, work styles, methods of interpretation and even basic emotional needs. How can we possibly guarantee great relationships with everyone?  Well, while a “guarantee” can’t be promised, what I found is that if you took the time to understand what is really important to your client and co-workers and empathize, you can then genuinely meet their needs and start developing ongoing positive connections.

A few examples… Let’s say you have a client who is always on your case, on your case, on your case about how a project is going. Rather than getting irritated and wincing whenever your phone rings, ask yourself where she’s coming from. Maybe she needs to be kept in the loop 24/7 because she has a boss who is on her case, on her case, on her case. So make a point to call her and send her a status list daily. She may then see that you “get her” and care about making her life a little easier.  

Or maybe you have clients who, when presented with the agency’s best work, delivered with unbridled enthusiasm, never respond with much more than a “ho-hum.” Think about how involved the clients have been in the creative process. Maybe bringing them in on the idea earlier, giving them a sense of ownership and a feeling of partnership will provide that coveted sparkling reaction.

And internally, perhaps your interactions with other departments are less-than-fulfilling when you approach them with multiple “hot” assignments. If you consider their workload, how often they are hit with “This is HOT,” and let them know that you understand and will do everything you can to help extend the schedule, and physically help, you might both be more pleased overall.

I could go on and on (and begin to tread uncomfortably close to what may sound like Sunday school or Psych 101), but basically I found that good relationships are what keep clients happy, agencies working well, and brains buzzing with cheer. So we if can try to understand each other, and to quote Carl Rogers, develop a “sensitive empathy,” we may be able to move toward this “everything” that relationships are.

“Christi, wake up!” my friend and KU roommate Lisa shrieked across the dorm room, her voice trembling in terror. “Wake up!”

“What?” I drowsily replied (for I had been asleep for over an hour while Lisa had been up cramming for her calculus test).

“Our snack crate is moving! There’s something alive in there!” (We had ever-so-intelligently loaded a variety of sodium-laden, nutrient-deficient snacks, such as Cheetos, Doritos, Pringles, Saltines and Ramen Noodles in an open turquoise plastic crate and placed it on the ground by our heating unit.) “Don’t you see the shaking and hear the crunching?”

“You’re imagining things,” I replied, “your brain is in a hard-math hallucinogenic state.” “No!  I’m serious. I just saw something!”

Grumbling, I sat up in my twin bed and gazed at the offending crate.  Then “swish,” I saw a tiny brown being scurry out of the plastic blue cube.  It was so fast that I couldn’t follow its exit path.  It was simply gone.

“Aughh!”  

It was a mouse!  A minute rodent in our room!  I’m not sure why it scared us so, but we were shaking in terror.  We sheltered suburban girls, who had never experienced nature within the safe walls of our own homes, did not know what to do…did not know what steps to take.  

“Should we call security?”  I yell at Lisa.

“No, it’s 2 a.m.–too late.”

“Well we can’t sleep in here.  What if that mouse crawls into our beds and bites us—it will have long nasty teeth you know.  Or what if it gets tangled in our hair?  It probably has fleas, or mites.  And don’t mice carry diseases?  What if we get out of bed and step on it?  Gross.”  And on and on–our brains were creating many scenarios featuring a large mouse with black beady eyes and yellow scythe-like teeth, in which two innocent girls fall victim to its jaws.  We were doomed.  Life as we knew it was about to end.  Just throw us in a grave and pile on the dirt.  Guess Lisa’s calculus test didn’t really matter after all…well, at least she had that benefit.

“I have an idea,” Lisa said.

“What?”

“Let’s bunk our beds (for our twin sleeping vessels carried this stacking option), and both sleep in the top bunk!  The mouse will never climb all the way up there, right?”

Now, we had no knowledge regarding a mini mouse’s climbing ability.  But we figured something that small couldn’t or wouldn’t make the big climb.  So, the two of us hoisted Lisa’s fairly heavy bed on top of mine.  We frantically searched for the connection pins that we had stowed in her desk.  We found them and inserted.  

Ah.  Problem solved.  Sleep was possible.  

Now, did we move the crate, filled with food, off the ground?  No.  We just turned off the light and huddled in the top bunk, risking a 6-foot fall to the vinyl-covered concrete floor if either of us tossed or turned in our nightmares, our mouse-filled dreams.

Morning came and there was no mouse to be seen.  Okay.  We were the winners!  We finally realized the necessity of throwing out all floor snacks and moving the crate to higher terrain, and did so.  We went to class, and almost forgot about the incident.  Then night came.

As we sat studying in our room watching our 13-inch TV, what did we see?  A little mouse diving out of the right side of our heating vent and scurrying across the room.  After another freak zone episode, we trudged down the hall to security to inform them of our trauma.  They promised to tell the cleaning staff about it in the morning.

Another night in the top bunk.

After class the next day, we came home to find evil death mousetraps placed in the far corner of our room.  “Thanks, cleaning staff, we thought.  Now the possibility existed for one or both of us to lose a toe in midnight, pitch-black room wanderings.

For weeks, never a mouse was caught…but we continued to see one or more leaping in and out of the heater each evening, as if a mouse marathon or perhaps a strung-out rodent rave were underway.  They had no interest in crossing the room to partake in the cheese bait laid out to beckon them to their demise—until Christmas break that is.

We finished finals around December 15^th and headed home…home to mouse-free houses.  We would not return to school until the beginning of January.  We had plenty of time to forget the dorm intruder nightmare.  And we did. However, when we walked back into our dorm room after break, we were hit with a smell so ungodly, so horrifying, that it pulled vomit to mid-throat and forced an immediate room exit.  For, in our absence, five mice had been killed in the traps, had flipped in the dying process, and had now rotted and really become one with the floor.  Such a sight–such a stench!

This was the last straw.  We yelled again to security and the building staff.  We raised a ruckus!  Grumbling workers came and removed the poor dead dudes (yes, I did feel bad for them as well) and put new traps out.  Our floor was half-ass mopped.

Lisa and I did not trust the efforts of the staff—did not believe its work would be effective.  We looked around and decided to take measures into our own hands.  We knew the mice had a kingdom deep within the heating vents and pipes which connected all our rooms.  Our brilliant plan was to simply cover the holes in our heater (probably holes necessary for air intake and safe heater functioning)!  If we made our room inaccessible, voila–problem solved.  

We grabbed our quite-flammable notebooks and tore the cardboard backs off.  We then taped pieces over all possible exits in the heater/entrances to our room.  And from the moment of completion, we had no more mouse problem.  We un-bunked our beds and were able to sleep soundly, while unknowingly jeopardizing our room and entire dorm to serious flames.

Oh well.

We were then able to put our food storage bin back on the floor, where all college kids feel it rightly belongs.       

“Oh, how cute! Are those outfits for your grandbaby?”

Disbelief. Amazement. A frantic scan of my immediate surroundings. This store clerk couldn’t possibly be looking at the gender-neutral-hued (shades of tangerine and green) infant “onesies” (purchased for a friend) in my basket and addressing me! Grandbaby? What?

As soon as I checked out, I blasted my outrage and anguish on social media, while hinting at the possible need of a cosmetic surgeon recommendation (and obviously hoping my friends would be equally stunned, thus supporting “youthful me”).

I mean, okay, so maybe it is biologically possible for me to be a grandmother, as I am in my mid-40s. While there seems to be a societal trend in delaying motherhood, some ladies do become moms much earlier in their adult lives. But still, how could someone think I am a grandma? Could that mean I seem old, a “senior,” almost ready for that easy-living-residence transition? For when I think of “grandma,” I see my sweet Grandma Corrigan (proper, white hair, rocking chair, sensible shoes, always seeming to be in her 80s, even when she was younger). I know that does not describe the active, hip grandmothers of today. But my immediate association to that word was with advanced age. That can’t be me! For just before my salesperson interaction, I rocked out my Spinning® class! I am a runner. I only have five grey hairs (hidden nicely by my monthly “let’s embrace auburn” trip to the stylist). These surely counter my 80’s over-tanning with resulting fine facial lines. I could “pass” for a mid (okay late) 30s gal, right? Right?

But as quickly as the “old age crisis wave” crashed over me, it receded. I found myself thinking. Why would I want to “pass” for a younger me? I like where I am in life. I value the experiences I have had and where I have succeeded. I am doing all I can to keep my body healthy and fit. I can focus on “now” and accept and appreciate what I am doing at this moment to meet my goals and embrace my life without a pining for my younger days. So I walked out of the store, confident and content…with just one tiny, unimportant, not worth a thought, yet lingering question…hmm…where could I find a more powerful facial rejuvenation system?

Chris Corrigan Mendez is an ad agency veteran, second-career counselor and higher-ed. instructor and contemplator/reflector of life’s many amusing “revelations.”

Valentine’s Day is a holiday that in so many ways resembles so many others in our culture.  It was instated centuries ago to replace a February “pagan” celebration with a more church “appropriate” mid-winter holiday.  It honored a saint.  And as time progressed, the commercial elements added by society began to subtract a bit from its original meaning.  Decorations, candy and gifts often overwhelm Valentine’s Day, as they do numerous other holidays.  But something does stand out about this day, separates it from the rest of our calendared galas.  For it seems that many of us, despite being exposed to the Valentine’s Day joyful bursts of pink and red, experience a higher level of distress on this holiday than on any other.  This may be because Valentine’s Day often becomes “Romantic Relationship Comparison Day.”

A wise professor in my graduate counseling program once reminded class that, “Humans are social creatures.”  It is natural for us to take cues from and look at ourselves in relation to others.  Historically, if we fit in, we were safer.  If we belonged, life was easier.  If we were like the others, we could construct a meaning of our world together.  But the Romantic Relationship Comparisons we tend to make on Valentine’s Day do not serve a helpful social function.  Instead, they can result in emotional drain.  And many of these comparisons are based on the dysfunctional beliefs that others’ romantic relationships are perfect, and are something we will never be able to experience.  Compare and Despair.  Often discussed in counseling literature, these words are, indeed, quite a sorry pair.

On this Valentine’s Day, how can we face these beliefs, change our natural tendency to compare, and move instead toward caring for ourselves?  How can we thwart despair and find self-value?  Four pathways, all starting with “I”, and pertaining to “Self” are worth considering: Identification, Investigation, Internal Dialogue and “I Validations.”

Identification means slowing down to pinpoint your feelings.  For example, if you see a co-worker receiving flowers, and you get wrapped up in vague negative feelings, take time to identify what these emotions are, specifically.  The process of naming your feelings (i.e. “I am feeling sad”) can actually defuse them a bit and start to peel them away from your center.  You can then start an Investigation.  Mentally unwrap your emotions to discover the thoughts and beliefs behind them.  What are you thinking about your co-worker getting flowers?   Maybe you will realize that you are thinking that her partner must be “perfect” or that yours never shows that much caring.  You can engage in an Internal Dialogue with those thoughts and beliefs and question them.  What do you really know about your co-worker’s total relationship?  Do flowers equal perfection?  What actions from your partner show caring as well?  After taking time with these first three “I” strategies, you may find yourself moving away from comparing and toward a more contented emotional space.

The fourth, and equally important, “I” action is I Validation.  Sit back, and perhaps close your eyes.  Breathe deeply and think about positive parts of you.  What traits do you have that have helped you meet challenges in your life?   Perhaps you are “Determined.”  How have you built all types of relationships?  You may be “Understanding.”  How have you been able to help others?  “Empathy” could be a key element of you.  Find three strengths.  Hold them in your mind.  Write them down.  Repeat them out loud.  Breathe them in quietly.  Validate them.  Taking the time to find and mentally embrace your assets can support your move toward self-caring, a more comfortable place to be on V Day.

So this February 14, if you find yourself slipping into low emotions, think of what “I”s can do for you.  They may help you smile, feel good about yourself, and maybe even enjoy that office bowl of candy hearts.  For you have stopped Comparing and embraced Self-Caring.

Byline:

Christine Corrigan Mendez, M.Ed., LPC, NCC provides counseling services to individuals in the St. Louis area, leads pet illness and loss support programs, and writes wellness editorial. Visit ccmcounselingllc.com.  

Well, here we are again.  It’s the start of a new year, and that “Big R” thought, “Resolutions” has bounded out of our minds’ shadows and into our consciousness.  This “R” entity often carries with it visions of gritting our teeth, clenching our fists, and just doing all sorts of things that we would rather not.  We view resolutions as ways to improve ourselves, which implies that we are not “good enough” as we are.  We label ourselves as “just flabby,” so our resolution is to “work out.” We believe we are “completely disorganized,” so our resolution is to purge all items we do not need and stack the rest in a precise manner (in perfectly labeled containers).  Or we call ourselves “procrastinators,” so darn it, we resolve to input all tasks on our smartphone calendars this year, and get them done immediately upon the chimes of the reminder alerts.

And while sternly committing our minds and bodies to this resolution mission, another thought often begins to manifest, one of unfriendly self-doubt.  We wonder if we will really succeed.  After all, haven’t we tried all this before?  And aren’t we back to where we started?  We wonder if we can change for good this time.

So to review…we label ourselves negatively, identify actions we HAVE TO complete to change from what we don’t want to be, and don’t really believe we can pull it off.  It seems tough for resolution success to result from this starting point!

But perhaps an answer to this resolution problem can be found.  Let’s consider another approach, another beginning, through the use of another “R” word: “Reframing.”  Reframing is a cognitive strategy often used in professional counseling—a process in which we identify our automatic thoughts or irrational beliefs and consider how they can be viewed differently (in a new “frame”).  By purposefully considering new and more realistic ways to think about situations, our feelings and actions may then also move to more positive and productive places.  So maybe we can shift resolutions from unwanted actions that we have to do to fix our inadequate selves to behaviors that we want to do, that we deserve to do, to grow our competent and worthy selves.

Let’s give it a try with “just flabby” and the resolution to “work out.”  Instead of looking in the mirror and giving ourselves a negative label with the resulting dreaded work out resolution, perhaps we can instead ask some questions that will lead us to a different way of thinking.  “What do our bodies give us?”  “What is already strong?”  “What more could our bodies do for us this year?”  Our answers to these questions may help us start to view our physical selves as already valuable and deserving.  And this thinking shift may then also alter our view of exercise.  Time in the gym, walking with friends, or engaging in physical activities that we enjoy could be considered “gifts” to ourselves, so we can physically be the best we can be.

And are we really completely “disorganized,” or “procrastinators?”  Perhaps something is already working in our current ways of organizing and doing projects.  What credit can we give ourselves and how can we build on that vs. thinking of it as complete change, as movement away from a negative personal trait?  Reframe.  Reframe.

I say, “Cheers” to Reframing!  And I recommend giving this process a try.  Reconsidering our initial negative (and often not accurate) thoughts about ourselves can give us a chance to start from a new place, gain a more positive outlook, and give those 2014 resolutions a real chance to succeed.

 

This morning, at a post office in St. Louis County, a frustrated and angry outburst from a customer reminded me yet again of the role we can often play in guiding and guarding our own emotional health.  About 10 people with post office needs had dutifully pulled their numbers and were waiting to be called to the counter to send important packages and purchase thrilling mailing necessities.  The postal workers were making progress…

”Number 42–How can I help you?”

“Number 43–How can I help you?”

Then, in, and right up to the counter, walked a woman with a dog–a cute, spunky and excited “miniature” pooch, connected to an itty bitty flexible leash and wearing an official, orange “Service Dog” vest.  This struck me (and perhaps others clustered in the post office) as unique.  Most service dogs I have encountered have been larger breeds: labs, shepherds, or golden retrievers.   And these service canines have been mellow and focused, seemingly unaware of any humans other than the one holding the leash (quite unlike the pooch currently in our midst).   My first thought was, “Well, maybe this service dog helps in ‘non-traditional’ ways, like with kids, or with seniors, or with emotional issues.  Interesting.”  My second thought was, “Hmm…I wonder if you could buy a “Service” vest for any dog.  I bet my dogs would love to accompany me when I go shopping or run errands inside ‘No Pets Allowed’ sites.”  But then, I went back to “no judgment” zone and landed on, “Okay. Whatever.  I’m sure it’s legit.  Awesome…Is my number up soon?”  Unfortunately, at this moment, one of the postal workers noticed the dog (and not the service vest) and following regulations, addressed the dog-porting woman, “Miss, dogs are not allowed inside the post office.”  And this was the moment when the emotionally painful path was taken and another possible course was overlooked.

“Can you read?!!” retorted the customer with the dog.

“Excuse me?” says confused post office worker.

“Can’t you see this is a service dog?  Can’t you even read?!”

And the argument escalated.  The manager was called over and the customer expounded on how sick she was of being told that her service dog was not allowed inside, how so many people did not notice the official vest.  And despite postal service worker and manager explanations about not really seeing the vest (or really much of the dog either, due to its diminutive stature), the customer remained consumed by her feelings of anger and outrage.  And when her post office business ended, it is likely that her pain lingered (perhaps along with that of the postal employee and manager, as receivers of the customer’s tirade).

While throughout the emotional explosion all the waiting customers (myself included) demonstrated the typical “Look down and pretend you don’t hear the argument…la…la…la….nothing happening here….” behavior, I was also thinking about the feelings of both the customer and postal worker.  I was contemplating what could have helped the whole event transpire differently, and thus result in a lower level of emotional pain.   I landed on the answer of  “Mindfulness.”

“Mindfulness” is a hot term these days.   But what does it mean, and how can it help us?  Basically, the essence of Mindfulness is being present in the current moment, paying attention to, yet not judging, what is happening inside yourself and outside.   Mindful attention allows you to notice your thoughts and feelings, but not always become wrapped up in them, encumbered by them, devoured by them.   When you sense upsetting thoughts and feelings, you identify them, give them a nod, and perhaps even a “Thank You.” Then you breathe deeply, and move on effectively.  A Mindful post office episode could have happened in this manner:

“Miss, dogs are not allowed inside the post office,” states the employee.

“Wow, I have an angry feeling now because this always happens. My mind is telling me that it’s just not fair. And I am also wishing that more workers would notice the service vest,” the customer notices internally.  “But, this is a service dog,” the customer responds.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t see the service vest,” worker says.  “How can I help you?”

Less Pain, less Anxiety, more Mindfulness, more Effectiveness.

Now, this is presenting Mindfulness as a quick choice, an easy solution.  However, while Mindfulness sounds simple, it really takes work.  Learning to focus, breathe, and increase our awareness are not strategies that most of us grew up with.  Moving to Mindfulness can seem overwhelming. However, there are many resources now to help us on this journey.  Mindfulness books, lectures and workshops abound.  And a simple online search will supply numerous (and often no-charge) tips.   Read. Practice.  Read. Practice.  And enjoy a higher sense of peace and lower level of pain (and not just at the post office).

Byline: Chris Corrigan Mendez is ad agency veteran, a M.Ed. in Community Counseling, and a recent mover toward Mindfulness.  www.ccmcounseling.vpweb.com.

“Stop by my office when you can” is the email you get from HR at 3:31 p.m.  Uh oh, it’s the end of the agency’s quarter.  It’s late afternoon.  Business has changed a bit.  You have noticed the HR Director, CFO and CEO meeting repeatedly and urgently behind closed (clear glass) doors.  You know your gig is up, that you are a Chosen One  as you whisper, “Well, it’s been nice working with you for over a fourth of my life” to your office confidante.

You walk to the HR office of doom and find all the masters of your advertising agency future sitting facing your entrance. “Yikes,” you say and Yikes is right.  “We’re so sorry… despite your good evaluation last week, ongoing positive client feedback, and the fact that your work is often held up as an example for others to follow, we have to let you go.  We just don’t have enough projects for you right now.  So to follow formal rules, as we speak, your computer is being shut down and taken by IT (but don’t worry, we will let you come in later this week and get the files you need.) We have to make this your last day.  And we need to take your office security badge.”

Now, you’re not truly stunned, as you know the signs and have been a witness to the layoff scene many times before.  And the “layoffers” sincerely regret the situation.  But you still always wanted to believe it would never be YOU.  You thought that even if your account left the agency (leaving you with long empty days) that you were just too valuable to be let go.  You thought that someone else would just get the ax and you would take over his account.  Now is that fair?  Not really.  And is that likely?  Nope.

So you are history at your agency.  And that is that.  You may go into panic mode, may be irate, may experience self- doubt.  But (assuming you are receiving a decent severance and have saved some money along the way) you may instead choose to see this as the best opportunity you have had since you exited your glorious, care-free college life and first entered the ad biz.  Now can be the time to take a step back and decide if you want to keep living your life identifying as an “Account Executive,” or “Copywriter” or “Art Director.”  If writing creative briefs, concepting, presenting and producing still fire you up…if monthly creative reviews, POVs and CPM analyses continue to get you giddy, then you can hit the resume-sending, ad agency networking trail.  With the turnover in the industry, a new position in an agency may actually not be that hard to find.  Becoming a freelancer and even opening your own solo ad shop are also viable options.

But if you’re not sure you want to press on in the “Mad Men” mode, think about your other interests and passions.  If you’re a writer, maybe you would like to shop around some of your humorous essays and short stories—who knows, maybe you could become the next David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs.  Maybe you have been thinking of pursuing a graduate degree, and haven’t yet had the time.  Or maybe there’s a local college or charity organization desperately in need of a communications director.  The experience you’ve gained in the ad agency world is applicable (and even coveted) in many alternate fields.  And the contacts you have made– with clients, with vendors, and with the media can work to open doors for you.

So while it’s never fun to be a Chosen One in a layoff, and it’s a serious drag to take a financial (and insurance) hit, it’s also a chance to reinvent, reposition and re-energize.  Sometimes a kick out the door will land you somewhere you really want to be.

This Reflection was written by a 20+ years- in-the- biz ad gal who was laid off from her last (12-year) agency gig at 3:31 p.m. on November 1, 2011.  She graduated with her M.Ed. in Community Counseling in May, 2013, and wishes all other Chosen Ones amazing, fulfilling futures.        

October 1990

“Ice, Ice, Baby….Ice, Ice, Baby…”

Friday, 6:00 p.m., the first week of September, 1990–I sped along the oak tree-lined, now shadowed streets of University City in my metallic, not-really-sporty (but I thought so then), gold four-door sedan. I jammed to the funky rap tune I was digging.  What a song!  It had a beat that pulled you in and a rap that rocked.  It also had a melody that some lame DJs believed too closely mirrored that of a Queen/Bowie tune–whatever, fun-crushers!  I was pumped.

Having graduated from the Universityof Kansas in May, I had just completed week one of my first real adult job–no, the first week of my glamorous career in advertising.  My journalism/psychology double major and 3.92 GPA had paid off.  Phi Beta Kappa would be proud.  I was now in charge of monitoring advertising spending and schedules for competitors in the “spirits” category (no, not ghostly or religious spirits…hard liquor spirits), for a downtown advertising agency.  What an honor.  I had crucial, surely-world-altering responsibilities.  Humanity would definitely progress and drinkers would be more emotionally fulfilled if they chose my client’s brand of whiskey for their imbibing needs.  And to make that happen, it was essential that we kept them “in the know” about the other liquor companies’ marketing.  I was contemplating this as I reached my destination, my chest swelling with pride.

I stopped and expertly parallel-parked my sparkly gold gem at the lively corner that offered a bevy of pubs and restaurants to college students (Washington Universitywas only four blocks away) and neighborhood residents.  I looked with great excitement across the busy street at the building I came to visit.  It was three stories tall, skillfully crafted over 70 years ago, with multi-hued caramel-colored brick.  A grand stone courtyard reigned in front, with a garage tucked underneath.  The structure impressed me.  The rusty air-conditioning units in all the windows did not.  I chose to ignore that flaw.

I exited my car, climbed the concrete steps to the courtyard, and entered the filmy glass-paneled door at the southeast corner.  I checked out the entryway floor.  It was black and white tile with a ribbon-like pattern that had been popular in the ’20s.  My gaze rose to a row of six greenish-copper, rectangular mailboxes inserted in the rough antique plaster wall.  Each had a hand-written name label affixed at the bottom.  My skin began to tingle with excitement.  I rushed up the staircase (all three floors) and arrived at the solid oak door.  It displayed a glass mini-window, ablaze with orange, green and blue diamonds.  It was open, so I entered to behold the most amazing sight of my life.  An empty apartment!

It boasted hardwood floors, arched doorways, new (although a bit sloppy) white paint, a little phone “nook” in the wall, two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, a black and white kitchen, and even a “balcony” overlooking the grand alley and dumpsters behind.  Wow, this would be mine!  My three-month, post-college period of living at home with mom and dad was over, baby.  I shouted with arms outstretched, “Goodbye, ’60s wood-frame ranch house, identical to all you other ranch houses on my childhood street!  Hello, apartment brimming with history, character, and charm!  Who cares about my school loan, my car loan, and my salary that equals only slightly more than half my age?  I can afford to live on my own.  I can make it work!”

I decided to call Tina (my high school friend, now a special education teacher who had agreed to be my roommate).  We could sign the lease on Monday.  (She would love it too!) Independence!  Happiness!  Wealth!  “Ice, Ice, Baby…” I danced with joy around my new place.

The next week Tina and I were together at our pad, taking care of our pre-move-in details.  We assessed our furniture status.  Tina had a tannish couch, loveseat, and chair she bought from a fellow teacher, who had in turn, purchased it from a fraternity house.  That would do.  (We just wouldn’t think about what crusty, nasty stains might still cling to the nubby fabric despite frenzied steam-cleaning efforts.)  We each had bedroom sets that we could claim.  I could also snag an old dining room table and matching chairs from my folks’ basement (maple veneer and cracked black leather seats, oh yeah) that would fit perfectly in the dining room alcove.  And a TV…we could just get a Best Buy credit card, buy a 19-incher, and pay it off month by month.  We could rent the much-needed AC window unit (for it was still excruciatingly hot outside).  This was not the smartest fiscal decision, since it cost $45 a month.  We could have purchased one, in a similar fashion to our TV, and saved money overall. But hey!  Whatever!

Move in day, a Saturday…with help of friends, Tina and I lugged and angled our treasured pieces up the many steep steps.  We spent all day arranging the few furniture items and filling our surprisingly small closets with our wardrobes.  When all was complete, we looked around.  Sure, the walls were bare.  Sure, the mini-blinds were bent.  Sure, there was a hole in the tub/shower wall…hmm, didn’t notice that before.  Didn’t matter, we were on our own, happy and grown-up.  We didn’t need to lean on mom and dad anymore.  We didn’t have to follow their rules and regulations.  We weren’t forced to defend ourselves about every decision we made and participate in endless, worthless arguments.  As Tina so eloquently stated while she held up the black princess phone that we had nestled in its special nook, “If mom starts to yell, you can just ‘click’ and end the conversation.  Click.  Click.  Click.”  “Click” was the verbal symbol of our new power.

The first few weeks were glorious.  I went to work each day, and, on the drive home, would find myself almost giddy.  Some days I would enter the apartment, change, go running, shower, then “cook” myself dinner (always frozen meals, heated, and then eaten on a tray table in our “media/living room”).  Other days, I would drive home, and then go out with friends to listen to a local band.  The sense of freedom was overwhelming.  There was no one to ask, “Where are you going and when will you be back?”  If we wanted to talk to our folks we could call them; if we didn’t, we wouldn’t.  Simple as that.

Tina and I (and our good friend Visa) continued shopping for the apartment.  There were many additional items we just didn’t know we needed until we really got settled.  We needed cookware, flatware, glasses and a microwave for the kitchen.  We had to get new bedspreads and framed posters for our bedrooms.  I also needed a mirror since I didn’t have a formal “dressing table” like Tina did.  And, lastly, we needed a rug for the living room.  Hardwood floors were great, but a rug was essential to pull the room together.  The whole apartment transformed itself, in a fine fashion, to quite a “shabby chic” look that worked.

Then it happened–the terrible tragedy!  The bills came!  We had the rent, electricity, gas, water, Best Buy and Rent-A-Center charges.  On top of that, I had my car and school loan payments, the monthly fee I paid to park in a garage downtown (ooh…that made me mad, but that’s a different tale), and minimum payments on my Visa card, gas card and a department store card.  I pulled out my handy oversized solar calculator and started adding.  My share of the apartment expenses plus my personal expenses totaled $1,150.  My paychecks (I was paid twice a month) totaled, after taxes, (no kidding), $900.  I wondered where was I going to get the money, the extra $250 each month?  I began to think.  I figured I could try to get a second job, maybe retail or something after work.  That would be difficult though, because I often had to stay late and work weekends at my beloved ad agency.  I could park further away from the office; that would only save me about $30, though.  We wouldn’t need the AC unit after this month…$22.50 saved there.  I did hours and hours of creative accounting, but could not come up with an answer that fully solved my financial dilemma.  I said to myself, “There is no way I can ask Tina to pay more of the rent or anything else…can I…hmm?  No.”  This was not her problem.  What could I do?  There had to be an answer!  It was just the beginning of my new place, my new life of liberty and self-reliance…how could I face it crumbling like this?

I thought and thought and finally came to an emergency decision.  It was radical.  I didn’t like it, didn’t want to face it.  It would have serious repercussions.  I knew I would live to regret it.  But it just had to be done.

Reach. Grasp. Lift.  Dial.  “Mom….”