When the running gets personal...

I've always said I've hated running; that the only way I'd run was if something was chasing me, and even then, it would have to be pretty darn scary.  But the truth is, I've spent most of my life running from stuff, just not with my feet.

Hey, a lot of people have baggage.  And a lot of people are good at self-medicating to try and counter the sting of said baggage.  Pick your poison: drugs, alcohol, food, sex, work, perfectionism... it doesn't have to look like an after school special or Lifetime Television movie to be harmful.

No surprises there, right?  This is not new information.  What is new, at least for me, is the ability to finally start to look at what's been carefully packed away in that wheelie bag of mine.  Less running, which led to some serious slogging through some tough emotional stuff, and, surprisingly enough, THAT circled around and landed back at running - specifically the Star Wars (Light Side) 5k at the Disneyland Resort.

On Friday, Jan. 13 (#NotSuperstitious), I'm running this 5k on behalf of the Joyful Heart Foundation, a non-profit organization working to support survivors of domestic violence, sexual assault and child abuse.  Joyful Heart was founded by actress Mariska Hargitay, who plays Det. Olivia Benson (arguably one of the strongest female lead characters on television, IMO) on "Law & Order SVU." Hargitay founded the organization in 2004 after noticing a shift in her fan mail. Instead of the usual, "I love your hair," or "I love your work," letters began focusing on stories of fans' own personal trauma.  Many said they were disclosing for the first time.  Feeling compelled to act, and with the support of myriad star-studded connections, and I'm sure some blood, sweat and tears, Joyful Heart was born.

In early-2016, I had the opportunity to participate in a 4-day holistic healing arts retreat, led by Joyful Heart, and as part of a research project designed to evaluate the effectiveness of a holistic approach to self-care as part of the healing mindset. It was a wonderful opportunity and, really, was the first time I'd dared to even unzip that big ol' suitcase and consider its contents, much less root through any of it.

In an act of gratitude, I'm honored to be running in this upcoming race and raising money for Joyful Heart Foundation as I go.  Even if it DOES mean getting up at OH-DARK-THIRTY.  Did I mention step-off is at 5:30 ...... IN THE MORNING?!!?  Honestly, WHO DOES THAT?!!?  If you know me, you know this is WAAAAYYY out of character.  So, really, if you've decided to sponsor me in the run, know that you're supporting my effort to get up that early just as much as you're supporting my effort to haul my butt around the Disneyland Resort for 3 miles. Just' sayin'.

I signed up for the run back in early September, which gave me plenty of time to prepare physically.  And mentally.  The first time I shared my fundraising link, I almost hyperventilated.  Why?  Because I admitted to having a personal connection to the work of the organization.  When you've spent most of your life dancing as fast as you can in an effort to appear as though, "Hey, it's all good!" it's Really.  Stinking.  Hard.  to even admit you have a suitcase, must less elude to what might be in it.  Thankfully, the world didn't end, some friends made generous donations in support of my effort, and I realized I felt a bit of relief from having, at least to some degree, loosened my grip on the "secret."

Baby steps.

Then it came down to the business of running, which, remember, I've always said I hated.  Thankfully, I've been in an ongoing series of FitBit Challenges with a group of friends since mid-2016.  Since I can be competitive, I found myself heading to the treadmill at the gym to supplement my dog-walking steps.  A fan of efficiency, I started jogging.  Slowly.  I realized it wasn't so bad, and that most of my earlier attempts to "take" to jogging likely failed because I was pushing myself to jog at a pace I wasn't physically fit enough to handle.  (Having a short stride doesn't help.)  Jog a little.  Walk a little.  Jog a little.  Walk a little.  Watch the step count climb!  I can even jog on the treadmill and read my Kindle at the same time!  Skills: I have 'em!

Within the last couple of weeks, I realized I should probably work up to completing the full three miles without walking.  The race itself has a time limit, and if I walk too much, I won't finish under time.  (And, being a recovering perfectionist, that would seriously bum me out.)  So, just after Christmas, I gave it go.  AND I DID IT!  Then on Dec. 30, I DID IT AGAIN!  Earlier this week, I even surprised myself by pushing my pace for the final half-mile, briefly walking it out, and then jogging AN ADDITIONAL 1.25 miles.... 4.25 miles in one 'go!' and with basically no walking!  I'm still not fast, but I've improved my pace since first starting out.  I'm doing it.  And I'm sticking with it.  Yay, me!

I logged another no-walk 3-mile trek today.  For the first time, it didn't feel like I had to struggle to keep my head in the game and not focus on how much I dislike running.  I wasn't winded... my feet (mostly) didn't bother me... my knees were happy, and I happily realized I've worked up to a level of physical fitness where I'm more than capable of jogging for three straight miles.

This makes me so happy.  I've never really been the "fit one."  (I need to work into some strength training.  I might be building the cardiovascular health needed to jog a 5k, but I still have pool-noodle arms and poor core strength.  #2017Goals)  I remember in elementary school, at some point, realizing I had a good 15 pounds on many of my "skinny friends."  And kids can be horrible about that stuff.  I still remember the day the man who played the short-lived role of my then- step-dad engaged in what we might today call "fat shaming." I had received an Easy Bake Oven as a gift, maybe for my birthday.  (Woot! Cooking with lightbulbs for the win!)  My neighbor-friend and I were baking the components of the little, 4-inch round cake.  I don't remember exactly what he said, but I distinctly remember deciding to throw the cake out and not eat it... and it led to a "weight-loss challenge" where I was "rewarded" with a pair of Jordache (dating myself, I know!) jeans.  Sure, I remember being proud of those jeans (all the "cool kids" were wearing them), but as I look back, the whole thing just feels sad. Do you want to encourage your kids to adopt healthy eating and exercise habits by setting good examples, or do you want to try and shame them into it?  Hey, parents, etc. do the best they can with the knowledge they have at the time, right?

I hated running as a kid, too.  My "skinny friends" were always faster than me, and it sucks always coming in last.  I even started volunteering to partner with the girl in PE class who had muscular dystrophy and wore leg braces.  A lot of kids could be mean about that, too.  True confession: This wasn't just to be a nice person.  This was also about finding someone I could run alongside and not look like a total turtle on 100-yard-dash day.

So, for as much as I'm going to dislike getting up at the honest-to-doG-Butt-Crack-of-Dawn next Friday, overall, I'm excited about participating in this run, and proud of myself for working up both the emotional courage and the physical fitness to do it justice.  #Progress

"Close your eyes.  Feel it.  The light... it's always been there.  It will guide you."                                  - Maz Kanata, Star Wars: The Force Awakens

Thanks for listening.  :-)

There's still time to support my fundraising efforts if you're interested.
Any amount is very much appreciated.
Scroll far-right to find the "other amount" option.  

Thank doG for my master's degree. No. Really.

Having officially, OFFICIALLY, wrapped up "Operation Earn a Master's Degree" with yesterday's graduation ceremony, I would like to publicly thank Barley Narr for not being the type of dog who seemingly never puts a paw out of place. Why? When Rachel Friedman Narr decided she and Barley would benefit from some training, they came to J9's K9s where I ended up as their teacher. (Work with me, here. It will make sense, soon.) I had just started my MA program and had no idea what I'd end up doing for my thesis.

In a funny coincidence, I later ran into Rachel outside of dog class, while covering an off-campus College of Ed event as a reporter for CSUN's Office of Marketing and Communications. I think that's when we friended each other on Facebook.

Maybe a semester later, while taking a social justice reporting class, I posted an open call for story ideas for what would be my final reporting project. Rachel posted a note about DEAF Project, I was immediately intrigued, and signed on to do the story. At the time, I had an alternate thesis project in mind, but was hugely impressed with what DEAF Project was doing, and ultimately pitched the idea of continuing my work with the organization to help boost its public relations effort. Not long after, the idea for the "Connected: Celebrating Families" retreat was born.

It took a village to bring the Connected retreat to life. Many, MANY wonderful people gave of their time and talent as presenters, volunteers, etc. Though my job was to keep most of the juggled balls safely up in the air throughout the six-month planning/implementation period, the retreat demanded a sizable commitment of time and effort on Rachel's part ... on top of her f/t teaching load. THANK YOU, Rachel, for supporting me throughout the idea, and for your willingness to help bring it to life. It brings me great joy to say that we made a heck of a team. :-)

Often, we have no idea where a new experience will take us. My MA experience wasn't exactly what I was expecting, but at the end of the day, I am happy to have reaffirmed a passion for non-profit PR; honored to have joined forces with the wonderful people of DEAF Project; excited that the experience prompted me to begin learning ASL (Thank you, Maria Vasquez-Low for the great start in your CSUN classes!); thankful for the friendships that were formed along the way; and proud of what we accomplished with the Connected retreat! It's simply not my style to have been nearly as happy with a purely research-based thesis. I'm a "creator" at heart and am thankful to have been given the opportunity to help create something meaningful.

G'boy, Barley Narr. G'boy.  ;-)

Spirit of Christmas past

A wee version of me, with my late-grandfather.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

I hope the holiday season has blessed you with much love, comfort and joy.

It's Christmas Eve and I'm blogging in an effort to keep me from obsessively checking the CSUN website to see if my final course grade has posted yet. Apparently, the deadline is 5pm today.  Tick, tick, tick...

In the meantime, I found myself remembering how my family celebrated Christmas as I was growing up.  Word on the street - well, at least according to my mom and my now late-grandmother - is that they grew up considering Christmas Day as the big shin-dig when the whole family came together.  Not long after I bounced onto the scene in the early 70s, the eldest matriarch of the family passed away and there was a shift in holiday hosting duties.  I think that's when my newly married grandmother took over.  Or maybe it was her mother-in-law for a while.  I don't know.  I was a baby.  All I know is, by the time I was old enough to remember, Christmas was at Grandma Pat and Grandpa John's house.

They always threw what felt like a massive Christmas Eve party.  When I look back, I realize it was mostly Grandpa John's side of the family.  He'd been married once before and had three kids and four grandkids.  They'd all come... his brother and his wife would come.  My great-grandparents (my grandmother's parents) were there.  Me... my mom... my sister...  It wasn't really that many people, but it felt massive, and I realize now, part of why it felt so "big" was because of the effort my grandmother put into planning and hosting the party.

First there was the cleaning.  And lots of it.  Then there was the prep work.  The baking.  Oh, the baking.  She always made oatmeal raisin and Snickerdoodle cookies.  One year her friend from Indiana gave her a recipe for Peanut Butter Buckeye candy and she made that.  If you don't know what Buckeyes are, they are hand-rolled balls of peanut butter awesomeness that are hand-dipped in melted chocolate.  Time consuming as hell, but wicked yummy!

The cookies complete and stored in vintage 70s Tupperware containers that were housed in the insanely freezing "middle" bedroom, she'd get to chopping vegetables for the veggie platter.  Carrots, celery, jicama, zucchini... no pre-cut stuff here.  She sliced and diced it all herself.  And the cheese plate?  Assorted cheeses, all beautifully (and freakishly uniform) cubed.  Her sweet-and-sour cocktail meatballs were always a requested hit and do you think she'd use pre-cooked meatballs?  Oh. Heck.  No.  She hand-rolled every single stinkin' meatball before plunking them into a vat of deliciously sweet and sour sauce.

When I got older ... you know, and thought I knew everything ... I used to think she was silly for not buying pre-cut veggies or pre-made meatballs or pre-cubed bits of cheese.  "Nobody will know the difference," I'd say.  But she'd know.  And for her, making the effort to personally oversee every tiny little detail wasn't about being OCD about the holidays.  It was about wanting things perfect for her family.

At least that's what I've come to believe now... as an adult... an adult who misses her grandmother, especially during the holidays when Christmas Eve rolls around and I remember the excitement I used to feel when guests would start arriving at the house.  I've had this kind of creepy, funky holiday vibe workin' for a while now, and I thought it was just because I was missing my grandparents as I remembered past holiday celebrations.  Then I realized that Christmas Day 2007 was the last time I saw my grandmother alive...

As a slight detour, my grandfather had his perfectionist tendencies, too.  One year I talked him into hanging Christmas lights on the house - something they never did.  A mechanical engineer, he wasn't about to accept "limp light syndrome" where the lights hang all sad-like from the eaves.  Oh no.  He took to the job with his staple gun in-hand and secured each bulb with a staple on either side to keep them all standing uniformly at attention all season long.  It was beautiful.

He also took great pleasure getting a rise outta me by calling the Brazil Nuts a very.... er, um.... "colorful" name.  "OHMYGAWD... STOP CALLING THEM THAT!!!" I'd wail in horrified embarrassment.  Every.  Stinkin'.  Year.

I miss that.  Okay.  Not the overt racism part, but you get what I mean.

Indeed, the holidays are a time to reflect and so I am... as I ponder new holiday traditions and celebrate time with family and friends.

May your Christmas be magical and your New Year filled with love and light.

Merry Christmas!

P.S.  Still.  No.  Grade.  (Perhaps I should run and ask Santa for some patience for Christmas?!)

Gettin' schooled ... in uncertainty.

Image courtesy of prozacville.blogspot.com.

 This week I finished my first semester as a grad student.

One down, three to go.

I wish I could say I finished the semester having a better idea of what I want to be when I grow up than when I started, but I'm not sure that's the case.  This bugs the ever-loving CRAP outta me, but I'm trying my best to be patient, enjoy the ride and hope the answer will come - or learn to accept that it still may not.  Maybe the "answer" isn't what this process is about.  I don't know yet. 

I do know that I'm enjoying being back in school.  I enjoy the academic environment and I think I'm starting to see the allure of becoming a professional student, but I think that's just because the next right move hasn't clicked into place for me yet.

It was an interesting semester.  I had one awesome professor and one not-so-awesome professor.  Oddly enough, the awesome professor turned out to be the one who intimidated the snot outta me on the first day.  Her "welcome to graduate school" lecture basically boiled down to, "It's really hard; don't kill yourself."  Literally.  Don't kill yourself.  As in, "If you're feeling suicidal, here's a list of numbers you can call."  I'm not saying it wasn't good advice, but I definitely walked to my car that night with a deer-in-headlights look and a looped track of "WTF was I thinking?!" running through my head.

First-day freak-out aside, I enjoyed the class and look forward to her classes in the future.  Plus, she's already sparked me to think about a handful of interesting possibilities to try and craft into future opportunities.  The ability to keep a student thinking outside of the classroom is definitely a hallmark of a good educator.

As for Prof. Not-so-Awesome ... it's only because I'm disappointed.  I really wanted to like the class.  Even though it was theory, I started the semester determined to buckle down, do all the reading and try my best to kick some academic a** in the type of class that, as an undergrad, I would've been quite happy with simply being mediocre.  I'm wired more to be a skills person than a history or theory person, but I waited 16 years to go to grad school; I'm determined to go all out.  So I read, and I read and I read some more.  Pages and pages of academic journal articles.  If you haven't read an academic journal article recently, let's just say it's not the easiest-to-understand format for teaching new information, and I feel like, if presented differently, I could've gotten so much more out of it.  I managed to do well on the exams and periodic writing assignments, so my final grade comes down to how well I did on the final paper.  I'm confident I'll end up with a "B" in the class; I won't know for a couple weeks.  I wanted an "A."

Yes.  I said it.  I wanted an "A."  Straight As, in fact.  And really, I don't know who THAT girl is, because I wasn't straight-A driven as an undergrad.  I got plenty of As, but also had a handful of Cs over the years (usually math and history-related), that left me with a strong B-ish average.  Like I said, maybe it's because I waited 16 years to do this.  But really, I kind of have the sinking suspicion it's more likely about the fact that, on some level, getting straight As would somehow validate my worth as a potential contributor to something other than the dog training I've done for the past 10 years.

Don't get me wrong. I don't regret that career decision for a second.  I have met, hands down, some of the nicest people on the planet through my role as a dog trainer.  Some of my most closest friends are the result of relationships cultivated through dog training and dog sports.  I wouldn't trade them for any career change.  Period.  And no matter the outcome of my "adventures in graduate school," I plan to remain active in "dog stuff."  My "peeps" and I have too much fun together.  The Monday Nighers et al. are made of awesome and no way am I giving them up!

It's just that certain situations have changed, and since I'm not presently working as a full-time dog trainer, I need to pursue other things.  I've always had a passion for non-profit work.  I'm a total champion of the underdog.  For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to do something.  Something big.  Something that would somehow make a considerable difference in someone's life.  I've been blessed with an almost overwhelming sense of empathy.  Show me a human struggle and it'll quickly ingrain itself into my brain.  That's what draws me to non-profit work.

Problem is, I'm equally drawn to the idea of shedding light on the human struggle through a more traditional journalistic approach.  I love writing and am fascinated by the new direction the industry is taking.  (And by "new direction," I mean multi-media, not unemployed journalists!)  I love the work of NYT's Nicholas Kristoff.  I love a piece of long-form or multi-media journalism that rips your heart out, but makes you think.

Like this one:
The Girl in the Window - Tampa Bay Times

Or this one:
Carrying Darisabel - York Daily Record

Or this:
Keeping A Blue Light On: A Citizen's Tribute to the Seattle Police Department

OK. So really, the above links should come with warnings.  And hey, if you read them and feel the need for one of those hotline numbers I mentioned earlier, I'm sure I can dig up the handout from class.  For as difficult as they are to read, watch or look at, that's the very thing that somehow attracts me to them.  They are stories that need - deserve - to be told.  I don't know if I have it in me to tell a story like that, but I have infinite respect for those who do.  The last one is an awesome example of photography and its ability to forever capture a single moment in time.  When done well, like the images in this book, a picture really does tell a thousand words.  Amazing.

Of course, the bigger issue is that there's just about no such thing as a full-time job as a reporter with a single publication; more like piecemealing freelance jobs to make ends meet.  Not a deal-breaker, but full-time employment would be nice.

I could also be happy doing PR for an organization, cause or for-profit company whose mission I really believe in.  I definitely miss the collaboration that was so commonplace when I worked in PR.  I love, love, LOVE a good brainstorming session, especially when the creative juices are really flowing and people are working together toward an end-goal.  Doing PR for a police K9, SAR or related organization would be awesome.

And then there's teaching.  Journalism.  Yes. I'm interested in that, too.  I don't know about full-time, and my most recent (and valid) concern is that my 10-year detour into dog training means I won't be a legit candidate for teaching journalism even once I've finished my masters.  I lack "street cred."  I've never actually been a reporter, and I haven't worked professionally in the field of PR, in a full-time capacity, for 10 years.  I was recently lamenting about it to the aforementioned awesome professor, who agreed it presents a challenge, but had some good suggestions, including returning to PR for a while and then looking into teaching.

Of course ... all these options rely heavily on the idea that going back to school and earning a master's degree will prove helpful in re-entering the non-dog workforce.  I now have a serious appreciation for parents who leave the workforce to raise kids, then want to return some years later.  Yikes!  It's rough!  Has it always been this hard, or are things infinitely worse with the painfully sluggish economy?

Lots of possibilities, but different directions of focus.  Where will I end up?  I have no idea.  Some idea I've not even thought of yet could present itself and totally rock my world.  Who knows.  For now, I guess I'll just try to appreciate the journey and take it one semester at a time.

The Evolution of Frustration.

It's been a busy week with a lot going on - both externally and internally.  As the week draws to a close, I'm pleased to say I feel better about its happenings and more importantly, have a renewed faith in the tentative future path I've set for myself.

Much of the deflation I experienced earlier in the week had to do with my work as a staff writer for Valley College's campus newspaper, Valley Star.  If you missed the prequal and am wondering what I'm doing at Valley, I've been taking classes there for a year.  I started with an on-camera techniques course in fall 2009, shortly after KNBC's Jennifer Bjorklund and I teamed up to produce twice-weekly dog training segments for "Today in LA".  I figured some on-camera work time when we weren't actually trying to shoot something that would air, would be a good thing.

The following semester, I took a broadcasting production and advanced news writing course for fun.  I can probably list 100 things that are super annoying about taking classes with people half your age, and another 50 things I think are wrong with the current state of education in California, but I'll limit my comments to saying that I enjoyed the classes.  The production work (once we finally GOT to it) was great fun - especially since Valley has a recently renovated, state-of-the art production studio.  The news writing class left me pining for my early days of J-school -- before I was training dogs and even before I was working in public relations.

I've been training dogs full time for nearly 10 years.  Longer than I've done anything else.  I love it and am thankful to have had the opportunity.  However, arrangements have changed and my circumstances are different, and it has become clear that training dogs might not be the career I ride off into the sunset of eventual retirement with.  This realization is likely what helped my inner-journalist start trying to rear it's wordy head.  That said, I hope to somehow always be involved in dog training - at least part-time or as a hobby trainer.

I've been working on the Valley Star since Aug. 30.  I know we're all students and I know the rest of the class is working as either a reporter or editor with, at best, experience on their high school paper and a total of three prior journalism classes at Valley - one of which is more of a historical look at mass communications.  I was expecting some cluttered writing, random AP errors and a handful of grammar/punctuation mistakes in the first issue.

Multiply that by 50.  The first issue was a mess.  Clumsy writing aside, it was chock full of AP, grammar and punctuation errors.  Even worse, track changes notations somehow made their way into the printed version.  Didn't anybody proof-read the production thumbnails before sending the package to the printer?  And the other errors.  How did the writer, section editor and copy editor all miss them?

I chalked it up to being the first issue and hoped it would get better.  It didn't.

Each issue had similar problems.  And they got worse.  One issue ran with a lead story (mine) completely devoid of paragraphs.  Twice I had people edit mistakes IN to my work.  That one really got me.  I'm perfectly capable of making my own mistakes; please don't help me.

When the fifth issue hit stands and I found it to be riddled with the same types of careless mistakes, I was pretty much over the paper and was seriously contemplating dropping the class.  I'm not there to work on a degree.  I have one.  I'm only there to build a collection of clips to showcase my writing skills.  If we can't produce something I'm willing to show people, what's the point?  (It's worth noting that throughout the process, I've repeatedly offered to help edit work, etc., but have only been taken up on that offer a couple times.)

Apparently I'm more transparent than I realize.  On Wednesday I got a call from the editor-in-chief who said the program advisor thought I'd been unusually quiet and was worried I might be a bit deflated.

Yes.  You could say that.

To make this long story at least a little shorter, conversations between the editor, adviser and myself resulted in some changes taking place during the next staff meeting.  The adviser stepped up to lean on the staff about the repeated mistakes - and more importantly - implemented some procedural changes to hopefully fix them.  His policy has been to be very hands off (other than, say, to be the final person to veto someone's attempted use of "OMFG" in a story) and let the editors completely run the paper, but I think this group really needs the extra push.

I'm now sort of an adjunct editor.  It's extra work, as I'm now responsible for working with other staff writers to help edit their stories to printable status, but so far, I'm enjoying it.

Which brings me to more current news.  I'm applying to graduate school.  I've been thinking about it for a while - for a couple of reasons.  No matter how I slice it (or, as a PR person, "spin it"), the fact that I've been "playing with dogs," does not reflect well on my resume when I'm trying to get back into PR.  It's worse when I'm looking for a reporting job.  It would be difficult under normal economic circumstances, never mind when we're facing the highest rate of unemployment since the Great Depression.  Why not take this time to go back to school, brush up on my J-school skills and pick up some new ones so I can attempt to re-enter the job market with stronger educational credentials behind me?

The other reason for earning a master's is the ability to teach at the college level.  I love the teaching element of dog training and I think I'd like to eventually teach introductory college-level journalism courses.  Fifteen  years later, I still have fond memories of my J101 course.  Professor Henrietta Charles.  She was a hard-ass; three mistakes of any combination - grammar, spelling, AP, punctuation - was a fail.  Her high standards are largely what helped me develop an unwavering respect for the craft of writing.  I still live in fear of the G.F.E.  (That's "gross factual error" for you non- J-school types.)

Still with me?  Almost done.  I swear.

I'm applying for the fall 2011 semester.  That's nine months away.  A lot can change between now and then.  Who knows, maybe I'll land what will become my next perfect job.  I'm keeping my options open.  I submitted an application for a summer internship program with the Associated Press.  I'm not sure I'd enjoy a career in writing breaking news, but a summer internship would definitely be a good way to find out.  Plus it would look really good on my resume.

I had to submit a very comprehensive application packet which included two letters of recommendation.  I'm blessed to know people who are willing to write very nice things about me.  Reading the letters was hugely flattering and just the ego boost I needed in the wake of a frustrating week.  I think as adults, we should ask a colleague to draft a letter of recommendation at least once a year.

"Hey Phil, would you be willing to write a letter of recommendation for me?"

"Sure, Steve.  For what?"

"My ego."

The other thing that happened, is when I mentioned to the journalism adviser (one of my letter-writers) that I was also applying to graduate school and would be asking him to write a separate letter for that, he asked where I was applying.  When I answered, "CSUN," he responded with, "Why don't you apply to Berkeley?"

This probably peeks into some deep, dark corner of my psyche and reveals that I am my own worst critic.  Or maybe it was because of the week I was having.  It was probably both, but my immediate thought was, "OMG.  He thinks I could get into Berkeley?!"  Honestly, it never would have occurred to me to even apply.  But yeah, it felt good to know someone else thought I could pull it off.

The last couple weeks have felt pretty funky.  I've been frustrated by a lack of direction and had grown tired of feeling like I'm spinning my wheels professionally.  I still don't have the answers, but I've decided on a couple steps.  Baby steps.  At least I'm moving.  And I guess that's the point.  When you're feeling stuck, do something.  Anything.  It might not even turn out to be the right answer, but at least it's something.

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go." 

Doctor's orders.

Back to School. Otherwise Known As "What the Hell Am I Going to Do w/ My Life?!"

Summer is drawing to a close and that makes me happy.  It's fun watching my college-age friends head off to school and begin this new chapter of their lives.  Oh what I'd give to be 18 again...

As for me, it's been a long three months of wondering what I'm going to be when I grow up - and I'm definitely NOT 18.  I still don't know, but with school starting - and my having enrolled in a couple of classes - I'm hopeful that I'll soon figure it out.

It's a strange feeling not knowing exactly what you want to do with your life.  Especially when, at 23, I thought I had it all mapped out.  A college grad gainfully employed in the field of my choice, I was pretty sure I knew where I was going in life.  What I didn't know was that detours exist where you least expect them.

My first dog (as an adult) came into my life while I was working as the community relations director for a local non-profit cancer organization.  I wanted her to be well-mannered, so we enrolled in a basic obedience class at a local training school.  That's where I first met the team at J9's K9s.  By the time we completed our first semester of training, I was hooked.  The classes were fun and the six-credits-away-from-a-Psych-minor in me enjoyed sinking my teeth into the learning theory side of dog training.  And therein the hobby was born!  I continued taking classes, started volunteering, and set out to digest as much R+ training information/education as I could find and afford.  Eighteen months later, my position at the cancer foundation was eliminated (public relations: often last to hire, first to fire!) and I was out of a job.

At that point I made the brave leap into dog training full time.  Pretty bold career move, but I was fortunate to have (and am thankful for) the support of J9's K9s, and our skill sets worked well together as I was able to bring extensive public relations and marketing expertise to the table in exchange for the opportunity to build my chops as a trainer.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that eight years later I'd still be training dogs.  What a ride.

As my eighth year as a full-time trainer comes to a close, I find myself missing the non-profit and writing work of my past.  This has left me entertaining the idea of returning to the "real world" of work -- the typical nine-to-five, humans-only as clients kind of set up.  While I dread the thought of consistently getting up early each morning, having nights and weekends as my own (aside from when I'd continue to teach as a hobby) is incredibly appealing.  The dog trainer's schedule is, without a doubt, NOT social life or personal relationship friendly.  Hard to make plans with friends and/or meet someone when you're working during the very times most people are available: nights and weekends.

Problem is, for as much as I love non-profit work, I'm also intrigued by the idea of working as a print reporter.  When I first went to college, that's what I thought I wanted to do.  I've always loved writing, so print journalism seemed like a good fit - until I took an Intro to Public Relations class, loved it, and decided to detour over to the world of Spin Doctoring, er, I mean public relations.  Now I'm standing at the proverbial fork in the road: which path to pursue?  Public relations or print journalism?  And here's the rub: they're just different enough that you can't really bounce from one to the other, at least not in the direction I'm trying to go.  The market is much more open to journalists-turned-publicists than it is publicists-turned-journalists.  The theory is that journalists know how to write for journalists whereas, to journalists, PR people are often Spin Doctors and Hacks.  (C'mon... can't we all just get along?)

This means I'll likely have to pursue entry-level opportunities as a reporter.  A bit stinging to the ego, but I'm getting used to it.  The bigger problem is that presently, I'm not really even marketable as an entry-level reporter because I lack a collection of general writing clips.  My current freelance work has all been about dogs.  Great for dog-related publications; bad for general dailies.  Speaking of writing about dogs, check out my current WDJ piece on how to pick a dog trainer and the difference between a trainer and a behaviorist.  (See, I can't NOT act as a publicist - even for myself.  GAH!)    This brings me to the current Master Plan:

I've enrolled in another semester of Los Angeles Valley College.  Although it's best described in general as a high school with ash trays, it does have a journalism department and respectable campus paper.  My hope is that I can generate enough broad based clips to showcase my abilities as a reporter in order to find an entry level job with a newspaper or magazine.  I'm also attempting to add a variety of general knowledge classes. I feel a bit like I've spent eight years living under a rock; I stayed so involved with dogs and dog sports (as a profession, a hobby and an overall passion) that I sort of lost touch with the overall world around me.  Not a good situation for an aspiring general reporter.  I'm looking into classes in administration of justice, sociology and psychology.  Trying to add them late in the game (school starts on Monday!) at a time when budget cuts have obliterated much of the academic offerings has left me stuck with attempting to add in person.  Wish me luck.

If you read my earlier post about being a control freak, you understand how my current situation is driving me nuts!  I can't stand not knowing what my next move will be.  Even though I recognize that I'm taking steps toward finalizing that next move, I'm horribly impatient and really want to hurry up and get there - wherever there happens to be.

No doubt a life lesson.  School is in session in more ways than one.

The Year of Living Fearlessly.

I'm not much into jewelry.  I always wear a watch and most always wear a pair of simple hoop earrings.  Beyond that I'll maybe wear a subtle necklace, usually a Sterling silver chain with a small paw print charm. 

It's rare that I shop for jewelry or similar accessories, but one night I was aimlessly searching the 'net and came across this necklace.  It caught my eye because it's Sanskrit for "Fearlessness," a concept I've been thinking a lot about lately.

I am completely guilty of often letting fear dictate how I live my life.  I've probably known this on a sub-conscious level for some time, but only recently have come to face up to it in an attempt to move through it.  Fear is a powerful, powerful beast of a thing that manifests itself in all sorts of ways.  For me, one manifestation is the need for control; a need to always feel like I have my ducks in row, know exactly what my next move will be, and know how best to maintain order, or quickly restore it when chaos ensues.  I've learned that, when you grow up in an environment that's most politely described as, "chaotic," it's not uncommon to develop control issues.  Perhaps this further explains why I've ended up spending several years working as a professional dog trainer.  Ask any of the good ones -- they'll tell you we're all control freaks!  Gee, and I thought I just loved dogs.  

Thing is, at some point you (thankfully) come to realize that the fear is getting in the way of life - or at least the life you wish to have for yourself.  I've spent much of my life making decisions based on what I thought others thought I should do or what I thought seemed to be the safest or most responsible choice, even if it wasn't what I really wanted to do.  Or I'd talk myself out of what could potentially be a really cool thing, by playing a looped-tape of what-ifs in my mind.  Stupid fear.

I bought the necklace and as I wear it, I hope it serves as a tangible reminder to not let fear interfere with life.  We only go around once.  No sense chickening out! 

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."  -- FDR, March 4, 1933