the midwest

I recently started up a new project that has brought me to wholesome, God-fearing towns in Minnesota bearing colorful names like Shakopee and Minnehaha. Monday through Thursday I am trapped in Middle America hell. There are outdated hair styles, - my favorite of which belongs to Marjorie who proudly sports a bowl cut and makes no apologies for it - chain restaurants as far as the eye can see, and hallways filled with women exchanging their latest casserole recipes.

Two weeks ago I was on my way into the corporate headquarters of the world's largest agriculture producer and marketer. Because much of the mid-west operates on a farmer's schedule, I was forced to drag myself into the office well before sunrise, silently cursing the fact that I wasn't still in bed. As I walked into the lobby half-awake/half-dead, I approached what appeared to be a woman dressed in a gigantic red foam vagina. Immediately I perked up. Finally something to crack Minnesota's squeaky clean image! I had approximately ten steps of gleeful excitement that there just might be a protest or [gasp] that a meth addict had somehow stumbled into the lobby in a drug-induced rampage. I tingled anticipating the possibilities.

But just as soon as my hopes for a more thrilling Midwest were lifted, reality kicked back in. My dreams of a foam vagina were squashed as I realized she was actually dressed a tbone steak promoting a meat raffle to benefit the food kitchens for the larger Minneapolis area. I didn't end up winning the raffle, but I think I was actually more disappointed that something that had started with so many possibilities resulted in something so mundane.

Later that same day as I was making my sprint to the airport (by far my favorite activity each week), I was stuck behind a semi-truck transporting chickens on their way to slaughter. This reminded me of a discussion I had earlier about saving money by cramming more chickens into a space intended for one (let's set aside ethics on this one). But before I could get too lost in the calculations and the quality of life debate, I was jolted into a momentary panic. I was engulfed in feathers and speeding down a highway in near whiteout conditions. Windshield wipers are vital in situations like this.

That same day I decided that I am in fact a city girl.

consulting

I'm feeling like a total idiot lately and it's to the point where I almost don't even care anymore. I'm so uninterested in what I'm doing that I can't even pretend to care. I don't want to be here and I'm completely checked out. My only incentive right now is to keep my job so I don't end up homeless.

If I wasn't doing this, what would I be doing? I wish I knew the answer to that. I wish I was doing something where I felt like I was actually making a difference in someone's life or the world or a dust speck for that matter. I wish I was creating/destroying/changing something... anything!

Instead I sit in meetings for hours discussing such riveting topics as: how to submit a request form, a meeting to discuss making meetings more efficient, and what is meant by the term "complete."

[sigh]

I guess this is what consulting is supposed to be and why it's so difficult to define. Regardless, I think I'm over the hype.

the self hug

I don't talk a lot but I over think things... a lot... pretty much every second of the day. So much so I often get lost in my own head with little regard for what's happening around me.

I like to think about the drops of water left in the sink after washing my hands and wonder if they miss each other. Or what happens to the breath that exits one person's lungs and enters another and if it's innately altered afterward. Or if its some sort of cosmic balance that you laugh on the inhale and I snort when something is uncontrollably funny.

I have this habit that anyone who has spent more than a day with me has picked up on. I can't really explain why I do it, why I need to do it, why I breathe to do it. I'm horribly self-conscious about it and can't explain it in the slightest.

I tell people it's "the self-hug" and it is. It happens when I'm about to burst out of my body with happiness and I'm too embarrassed to say anything about it because I fear it's too strange to mention.

Would it be strange to tell you that your one gray hair makes me giddy? Or that watching a brewing pot of coffee makes me tingle in anticipation? Or that I rehearse you saying, "Give me your little paw," over and over in my head because I secretly love it?

I'm weird. I know.

[self hug]

11 dollar mark

"Thank you for flying with United today. The current temperature in Chicago is 0 degrees." Ouch.

I turned my cellphone on and within 10 seconds I received a call from my sister. While I was in mid-transit, my grandmother had died. Double blow.

I waited 30 minutes for my suitcase. I was cranky and felt horribly alone. I plopped into the next available cab, which happened to be a minivan. The cab driver was a personable Indian who had a nicer cell phone than I did. The traffic was stagnant and I knew I was locked in for the long haul. In cab situations I don't tend to be much of a talker but I kept making eye contact with him in the rear view mirror and since he led, I had nothing else to do other than follow.

Without any hesitation he proclaimed that he is the happiest he's ever been in his entire life. Although unsolicited, I felt obligated to inquire why.

"Let me tell you Miss... when I came here I was 20 years old and I had 11 dollars in my pocket. God has blessed me Miss."

He then proceeded to go into a tale that began in India where his mother would cut an apple into 12 pieces: 1 for herself, 1 for his father, 1 for his grandfather, 2 for his grandmothers (his grandfather had 2 wives) and 7 for each child. His journey brought him to America through varying odd jobs and eventually his story caught up to his present.

"So you see Miss... as long as I have more than 11 dollars in my pocket, I am blessed."

Being the ever-skeptic, I started to wonder if he was doing this to bump up his tip.

There was some brief silence that was interrupted with another story about his sister. She had married a man that had a nasty habit of chewing loudly with no consideration for anyone around him. They were at a party and people began to notice and laugh, which horribly embarrassed her. She was afraid to say something to him because her husband was not a kind man. So his advice to her was this:

"She must make him a private meal. Make him his favorite dishes and when he starts with the [smack smack smack] she must tell him that they are partners and that they are here to protect each other. And that his loud chewing draws attention not only to him but to her as well. You see Miss, you cannot bend steel with a fist. You must bend steel with slow, steady heat."

(wow)

Eventually the cabbie turned his attention to me and the current status of my love life. He advised me that, "Women here give themselves away too easily. You must make a man work to be with you, if he is to truly value you. Do not pick a partner for the physical beauty. Pick someone who can know you on this inside because it is the inner beauty where you will find happiness."

After 2 hours of sitting in traffic we finally reached my destination and I did not have enough cash to pay the cab fare in it entirety. So I told him I could tip him in cash but I would need to put the rest on my credit card. He turned to me and asked how much cash I did have and I told him, "Thirty-seven dollars."

And he replied, "Then that is all you owe me."

I insisted that I put it on my credit card and tip him in cash and he countered with, "And a million times I tell you no."

In the two hours I spent with him, this guy managed to break my skepticism and really got me thinking... What's the point in my life that I measure my life's happiness against? What's my 11 dollar mark? And will I recognize it when I surpass it?