Dorie Morgan’s Rising Up
Navigating Twenty-Something Suburban Life
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Activities don’t equal relationships
After I finished my last post, I did an exercise with myself to figure out exactly how much was on my plate. Was there really as much everyone tells me there is? Or is it still at a manageable level? If I don’t change anything else in my daily living, how much longer will I be able to keep going at this pace?
My little exercise in time management has a clear answer: not long at all. In fact, I probably should have keeled over from exhaustion about two months ago but somehow I stayed upright and kept moving forward.
At first, I thought my exercise was going to be a list of all of my extracurricular activities that I am involved in on a regular basis but that didn’t work out too well. There were just too many of them and seeing list pour out of my mind and onto the paper in front of me both overwhelmed and scared me. There couldn’t possibly be that much.
And then my little rational voice inside of my head says something along the lines of “No wonder I’m suffocating!”
In order to make this project a little more mentally manageable, I broke my life down into basic categories. “Work” “Wife” “Professional Development” “Church” “Sorority” “Community” “Dorie” Seven manageable categories seemed to make more sense but then I realized that normal people probably don’t need to think about their lives in terms of categories and subcategories. Normal people probably just think about life in terms of “work” “home” and “play”. Normal people probably are not overwhelmed by their list of extracurricular activities.
By the time I was done, I discovered that I have at least 27 different activities in my 7 categories. I say “at least” because I’ve since remembered more.
In case you are anything like me, if you forget you are involved with an organization it’s okay to let it go.
I pulled out my red pen a little later. And it sucked. It was horrible and I hated to do it by I tried to spend a few minutes in my mind with each activity. What would happen if I quit? How much time does this take up a week? Do I give to this organization? Do I take anything away from this organization? Do I have enough time, energy and resources to make this worth my while? If I was not spending my time on this, how would I rather spend it? Does this really make me happy?
The worst part of all was realizing that not only did I have to say goodbye to some of the things that dominate my days but I probably should have done this awhile ago. I’ve been spread too thin for far too long and I haven’t been doing my best work. I couldn’t give everything I wanted to give to the things I loved because there were just too many of them. And still just one me.
At the end of the day, it is not the organizations I am involved with or the work that I do that defines me. The relationships I build are what matters most and it is too easy to let all of the other “stuff” get in the way. The relationship I have with my husband is far more important than a relationship I might someday develop outside of my home.
Vote for Carmella
Hi friends!
Could you please help my friend Carmella out and vote for her outfit at The Limited? You’ve heard about Carmella before – she’s the one that can tell me I’m being unreasonable and I can manage to listen. She’s also someone who I trust with my own clothing decisions – her seal of approval on my wedding dress was more important to me than obtaining my mom’s approval (sorry Mom)!
Check out the outfit she put together and if you like it, please vote. Oh and check out her blog too. You can find her at an insubstantial spark of hope.
Create the Ultimate OutfitSponsored by The Limited 
Philadelphia – My City of Brotherly Love
To live in the Philadelphia region today is one of the best feelings in the world. While we’re all sleep deprived this morning (the celebrations were very necessary last night), the level of excitement coursing through every person that walks past you is incredible.
After 28 years, the Philadelphia Phillies have won the World Series.
So this morning, Philly is flowing with emotion and relief. There’s almost an electric feeling to it. This morning we are proud of our team and we are proud of our city.
This is the Philadelphia attitude in its purest form. The you-thought-I-couldn’t-do-it-but-I-did-it-anyway attitude that I love. The attitude of an underdog when he is on top. To live in Philadelphia this morning is to feel like you can change the world.
But that same attitude is always there.
You can find that attitude in Love Park on Monday nights. That’s when a group of suburban twenty-somethings who hang out with the homeless who frequent there. They bring sandwiches, cookies and drinks to pass out. When winter hits, they bring sweatshirts, blankets and coats. They listen to the stories that are rarely heard – stories that come from people who have spent years sleeping on the benches of the city. They are there, rain or shine, because the homeless are still there, rain or shine.
They are there to love the unlovable. We may say it is impossible to do it, but they do it anyway.
This is what I love best about Philadelphia. It is a city that genuinely cares and truly wants to change. It is the City of Brotherly Love. Not because of its well known nickname and not because you can go to Love Park. It is because you don’t have to live within the city limits to love and be loved.
I’ve written at least ten different versions of this piece over the last month. Some focused on the Arts in Philadelphia (Theatre Alliance of Greater Philadelphia is a great resource if you are a theatre junkie like myself and one of my fondest childhood memories is seeing Yo-Yo Ma at the Mann Music Center). I wrote about the nightlife and I wrote about the history. One version even read like a guidebook. But none of those versions could tell you about the love and the desire for change that fills the collective heart of the city. Today is the best morning to tell that story.
Philadelphia is a mixed bag – our crime rate is higher than it should be. The New Orleans mayor said our city was dirtier than his city. Several months ago, a disabled child died from neglect when there was supposed to be case workers involved. And everyone is aware of the now infamous “This is America – Order in English” sign. But then there is this other side of Philadelphia – that side that sees past the flaws to the potential. This is a city of culture, history and this attitude that cannot be duplicated.
Whether I wanted it to be or not, my heart has always been in Philadelphia. My zip code may tell you that I live in the burbs but I will you that I live within walking distance of a SEPTA train station (and I’ll even go so far as to argue that Philly is as much defined by its suburbs as the suburbs are defined by Philly). Philadelphia has my roots and my memories but more importantly, Philadelphia has my future.
This city is a bit rough around the edges, a bit abrasive. It’s a tough love city. To live here, you have to know what you want. And then you have to ask for it because no one is going to tell you what it is you really want and no is going to hand it to you either. It feels harsh at first but then you realize its home.
If you are like myself and you call Philadelphia home, I’d like to invite you to the upcoming Change Maker Philly event on Saturday November 22nd, 2008. If you would like to help us make a difference in the City of Brotherly Love, please join us for our kick off event. If you want to help, can’t make it or have other questions, please do not hesitate to contact myself or Kathrin Ivanovic. We believe in Philadelphia and we hope you do too.Why it is tough to live like Fire Opal
I have given my nail polish a lot of thought as of late. Not just in the Mary Foley , are you a bodacious woman sort of way but in the nail polish as a physical representation of myself as a woman sort of way. I don’t think it clicked in my head how different those concepts can be.
Two years ago, I heard Mary Foley speak for the first time while on a trip to Washington DC. She was incredible. She is a Phi Mu sister from the 1980’s, retired AOL executive, and now a women’s motivational speaker. She charged all of us at the luncheon with learning to live like our nail polish in the time that was come.
Today, I am painting my nails with Sunrise, Sunset (number 81 in the Sally Hansen Diamond Strength line). I find myself addressing the question: how do I live like sunrise, sunset? Does it involve my being awake for both? If orange was a personality trait, how would I live like it? Why did I not opt to buy the Tangerine Joy polish? And why is it so much easier to live like Champagne Toast than it is to live like Fire Opal? While these are not pressing questions in the mind of most, they can be a bit problematic when all I am trying to do is live like my nail polish and the bold names they possess.
There is also the slight detail that my line of work severely limits my ability to wear nail polish and for a nail polish fiend like myself, this is rather upsetting. Apparently, the FDA and state food agencies frown on nail polish in a food preparation environment. While I don’t exactly blame them, I am not thrilled about it either. Sometimes I try to trick myself that my nail polish is really “Nude” or “Bare” or “Pure” but Starbucks tends to frown upon nudity and I would burn myself out far too quickly if I bared my soul in there too often. And even when I try to tell myself that I am living purely, the truth is that I am not and that by my mother’s standards, I am a heathen headed straight for eternity in a fiery pit.
In college, I prided myself on having perfectly manicured nails, even before the bodacious awakening, as I like to think of it. To me, my nails were a statement of luxury. They were long, natural, and perfectly coated in color. I loved the look of surprise on women’s faces when they realized my nails were not acrylic and I loved the look of relaxation on my guy friends when I would softly drag my nails across their backs. It was a symbol of power. Few of my friends realized the amount of work that went into maintaining them as I had a tendency to also prove that I was just as strong as everyone else and my hands tended to be a visible statement of that. I liked to make sure that my finger nails, at the very least, were saying “I am better than you”.
Sunrise, sunset. I didn’t see the sunrise today. I will probably see the sunset but there are no promises for that. Does sunrise to sunset imply that I should be nonstop through the lit hours of the day? Or does my bottle of nail polish want me to learn how to appreciate the beauty that we are blessed with everyday? My nail polish draws attention to the fiery parts of the day, the parts that are vibrant with color and illusion as the light dances through the sky – did my living today reflect that? Am I still vibrant with color? Am I illuminated by light?
Originally posted to Diaryland as Im32flavors on May 30, 2006.
Just Making Plans
From time to time, I find myself increasingly depressed about the loss of the drive and ambition that once filled out the idea of how I would be as an adult. I have great plans for myself and I saw no boundaries to the possibilities in my future. I thought by the time I was twenty-five, I would single, fabulous and rolling in money. I would be powerful. I would have a fabulous career and still have time for my friends. I would have amazing clothes and my own place to live. I would not have a roommate and I would have enough money to purchase my own car. I would be a published writer and look devastating in a photograph. I would be amazing.
Instead at twenty-five, I find myself married, exhausted and rolling in bills. I tried to buy into the Suze Orman “Young Fabulous and Broke” mentality but at this point, all I feel like is broke. The truth of the matter is I am not all that powerful. In fact, I find that I have a much better understanding of just how weak I can be. I have a great job but I don’t yet have a career. I don’t have time for my friends. I don’t have time for myself. I haven’t bought new clothes in about two years and that isn’t for a lack of a desire to have new clothes. I live with my father-in-law. I will probably have a roommate for the rest of my life, but fortunately my roommate is also my bed mate. I am still driving my grandfather’s old Buick and I barely have enough money for preventative maintenance on that. I have been too afraid to send my words to a publisher for review. And lately, I look more like a hot mess in photographs instead of devastating. Some mornings, I wake up and find myself amazed at how different my life is from the life I imagined.
I’m not sure I would change any of it though. As tempting as the imaginary life I planned for myself at eighteen sounds, it sounds incredibly empty to me now. I would not have my husband in that life – in his place, I would most likely find superficial sexual partners. I would probably be a slave to my work and I would probably be chasing the great almighty dollar. My plan from when I was eighteen does not have any form of charity involved. It also doesn’t have anything that resembles a relationship with God – something I would not trade for anything in the world. I would not have anyone to come home to and to cook for – I would have myself. It would be a lonely existence.
I still miss the ambition that I now lack but I feel no urge to try to recreate it. I desire nice things – I want to own my home, my own car. I want to have beautiful clothes and exquisite jewelry. But I want to be comfortable more. I want to take the time to appreciate the youth that is on my husband’s face and I want to memorize how tight his skin feels against the muscles of his arm. I want to enjoy the time I have married as this life will be far shorter than I anticipate it seeming. I do not want my youth to be wasted while I am young. I want to savor this time as it will all too quickly pass. Too quickly we will find ourselves with children and too quickly we will find that those children will have made children of their own. Too quickly we will find that our youth has left and our ambition brought us no farther than our laziness.
I would rather have the reality of my current situation than the false life I once dreamt of.
And it is sweet.
Finally!
I’ve been hooked on Facebook.com since college. I don’t think I discovered it until midway through my fourth year in school but I have logged in at least four times a week since then. Usually more but I don’t want to make myself sound like too much of an addict.
Within the last year or so, facebook added the ability to customize your page which I am assuming was an attempt to really compete with myspace. I don’t know how successful it has been because I think most of us are on both facebook and myspace but what do I know. I am still amazed at the variety of applications that one may add. Harry Potter Spells. Food Fight! Happy Hour. iLike. Flixster. Friend Wheel. Politcal Compass. Free Gifts. Book Club. It’s border line insane really.
Recently I added the “Compare People” application. Not because I really wanted to compare people but because I was curious about what it was. I kept getting notifications that I had been compared and I was curious. Who had I been compared to? Was it good stuff or bad stuff? The knowledge that this application was out there was starting to make me paranoid… I had to know!
Upon adding the application, I discovered that I am ranked with in my group of friends as the second sexiest person and the third person you would want to be in handcuffs with. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I do know that the person who beats me on the sexiness category is an exboyfriend of mine. Having “been there, done that” I think the individuals utilizing the application might be mistaken. I am also not sure who beats me for the handcuffs and it might be better that I not know.
I also discovered that I am horrified by the application. Who the hell am I to compare my friends? Furthermore, who the hell are you to compare me? A friend of mine from work left a comment on my wall “Dorie, I cannot be compared”. I think she was right.
I’m not ready to take the appliation down yet. I think there is a lot about myself and the way I view my friends that I need to learn from it yet.
Saturday Mornings at Work
I’m in at work on a Saturday which is something I have not done since I quit Starbucks. It is a bit strange here. There are only three people in the building. It is quiet. I am able to think. I am able to complete a task without constant interruptions.
In the last five hours I have accomplished more than I usually do in an entire day. It is amazing how much time a ringing phone wastes for me. I know my job is to answer the phone so that other individuals time is not wasted but I still must accomplish other things.
A Saturday morning at the office does not bother me. It reminds me of how much I love my job. I finally feel like I have a career I can be proud of. I really enjoy my co-workers. I enjoy the majority of tasks that can be found on my list of things to do. I like my work space. In fact, I have a wonderful sense of accomplishment that I missed having. This is a good day.
I feel ambitious. I am ready to continue conquering my day. I want to go to the gym after this. Then I need to go home and prepare my Sunday School lesson for tomorrow and bake cookies for the kids. Then I need to make love with my husband. He needs that as well as I.
Not preggers
My period was over two weeks late. Which has sucked a lot. Its finally here but now I find myself with feelings of disappointment.
I know I’ve spent the last two weeks panicking over my period or the lack there of. I may have peed on several sticks trying to determine the status of my uterus. I may have freaked out to Brian, Carm, Kim and Mere. I might have made my neck problems worse due to my overabundance of worrying.
I may have also been wandering through baby departments in stores and thinking of children’s names.
But now, I am bleeding. I am not pregnant. There is no baby.
I know I promised Brian we would wait several years before we reproduced. I know I say I want to be out of debt before there was a child. I know I say that I am not ready yet. Still I longed for motherhood.
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