A fair trade: One forever home for one life lesson

Life lessons don’t transpire every day.  My last one was passed down from a remarkable 95 year old that I am privileged enough to call Grandma.  This one came from an 8 month old puppy.

Harlan and I recently added a 7^th member to our family- an 8 month old, pit bull-lab mix who we named Sergeant Pepper.  Our tally now stands at 2 humans, 2 dogs and 3 cats, and much to Harlan’s delight, we finally have a second Y chromosome in the family.  We always wanted two dogs, but Lita’s addition was so unplanned that we never came to a consensus about when the right time would be for pup #2.  I was advocating for sooner rather than later, but Harlan thought it was best for Lita to be older and better trained before bringing another dog into the mix.  I agreed to (try to) be patient about it, but proceeded to not-so-secretly check out the animal shelter website daily, thinking that if I could just find the right dog, Harlan would give in.  Every now and again I would call Harlan over to the computer.  He would patiently read about a dog that I had my eye on and listen to all the reasons why that dog would be perfect.  Then he would apologetically smile and say “I just don’t think that now is the right time”.  The right time for what, ripping my heart out and stomping on it?  Because you seem to have no problem with that!  Moving on…

Where was the warning: “Potentially hazardous to your health”?

“F*#k it, let’s just go.”  Those were the words that came out of Harlan’s mouth as we sat in a hotel room trying to decide where to go for our PhDs.  We had just finished a full day of touring campus, meeting with potential advisers, department chairs and grad school directors, and checking out the town.  We were weighing the pros and cons, and to be honest, there were a lot more cons.  We didn’t want to be so far from family and we weren’t crazy about the location or town, but this was pretty much the only place that offered the type of research that we both wanted.  It sounds silly when you are in a country this large with so many school options, but when you are in a specialized field of engineering, finding a right fit for two people is unexpectedly difficult.  Harlan was pretty happy with the research he would be doing, and I was super pumped about my potential adviser.  I was never going to like the research anywhere, so I figured it was best to really like my adviser.  We didn’t have any other ideas, so I guess this was it.  It wasn’t going to be forever, it was just going to be 4 years.  Anyone can get through 4 years anywhere, right?  “F*#k it, let’s just go.”

Birth of the fish car and death of a teenage dream

I never wanted to go to college.  At least not right away.  I didn’t know much when I was 18, but I knew that I was in no position to be choosing a career path.  I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, so clearly the best course of action would be to travel around the country until I figured out what I was passionate about.

By the time senior year of high school started, my friends were all talking about college.  Kids were looking into degree programs, writing essays for scholarships, and sending in applications for early admission.  And I was painting fish on the side of my car.  I had just bought a 1987 Dodge Colt from my neighbor.  My first car, paid for with babysitting and barista earnings.  It was a tiny, ugly car that needed something extra to bring it to life, and I decided that something extra was a hand painted underwater scene.  I enlisted a couple friends and before I knew it, the fish car was born.  That car was going to take me around the country, from town to town and state to state, while I worked odd jobs and met people who would help me figure out what I was supposed to do with my life.  Or so I thought.

The worst of my Se7en

If there was ever a deadly sin of which I could quickly and easily be found guilty, it would be envy.  That sly, green, self-destructive sin of envy.  But don’t worry.  I’m not going to go chop off Gwyneth Paltrow’s head a la Kevin Spacey in Se7en (although let’s be honest, who doesn’t envy Brad Pitt’s life?), and I honestly don’t envy big houses or expensive clothes or fancy cars.  I am beyond thrilled with my fixer upper that contains not one square wall or even floor, my wardrobe that hasn’t been added to all that much since I was an undergrad, and my poor Malibu that is on her 7^th life.  I don’t envy “things”, and for that I am grateful.  What I do envy, however, are personality traits that I wish so dearly came naturally to me.