Schmidt Talk

Dressed up as a flying pig aka “Swine Flu” for Bay to Breakers

After eight years of living in San Francisco, I have come to learn that if you don’t want to grow up, you don’t have to. Not in the traditional sense, at least.  This is a city that encourages adults to dress up on a semi-regular basis; a city where spending weekdays drinking in parks is the norm, a city where commitment is a four-letter word. This is a city where, either because of cost or comfort or both, it is not uncommon to share your apartment with several Craigslist roommates well into your 30’s. I have learned that there is in fact nothing traditional about becoming an adult in San Francisco. I will never buy a house, unless I find an extra 2 million dollars lying around. I can’t get a pet, unless I hide it from my landlord. Marriage? Maybe, but it will likely be at City Hall because when a third of your pay check goes to rent and bills you can’t really save for a big fancy Pinterest-worthy wedding. Having a child? Ha. This is a city designed to cater to dogs more than children. Here in San Francisco major life milestones like buying a house, settling down, raising a family, which so many people consider to be key markers of adulthood, seem to be just out of reach. This has made it all the more difficult to navigate my twenties--without a clear and defined road map to adulthood, I have been left to draw up my own blue prints. I compiled a little checklist for myself, a guide, if you will, of the things I try to do in my day-to-day life to become a better adult. This is in no way a definitive guide and most days I steer pretty far from this list. It is constantly evolving as I continue to figure out how I want to “adult” in this world.

Weekday adulting:

Wake up; hit the snooze button no more than two times. Resist the urge to check social media before exiting bed.

Brush your teeth and if you’re feeling really adult: floss

Make the bed – unless there is a person sleeping in it, in which case the bed making becomes their responsibility. (Hint, hint!)

Eat a healthy breakfast, pack a lunch and make it to the bus on time. (I think I might have successfully done all three of these things once. Baby steps).

Work a solid 8-hour workday at a job you love. (If you don’t love or even like your job, and you can, I would quit. You’re young, the world is big, and life is too short to spend 40+ hours a week doing something you hate).

Go to happy hour and have no more than two drinks. Unless it’s Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday…in which case you should probably just go to the gym and go home.

Upon arrival back home, cook a healthy meal. Or if you have a boyfriend who likes to cook, encourage that hobby and enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Wash the dishes no more than 20 minutes after dinner is complete. There is no such thing as a “clean dish fairy”.

DO NOT BINGE WATCH NETFLIX.

Brush and floss your teeth.  Unless you flossed in the morning, then you can probably let it slide.

Head on pillow by 11:00pm

Weekend adulting:

Wake up without an alarm by 9:00am (with the expectation that you will actually be out of bed by 9:45am).

Participate in an outdoor physical activity that does not also involve drinking. List of acceptable activities include but are not limited to: going for a walk through the park, riding a bike around town, and/or running to the beach. Slosh ball and beer pong do not count.

Pay your bills. Those student loans aren’t going to pay themselves (Thanks A LOT Obama).

Volunteer. Get involved in your community. Do something that is not totally selfish, even if it’s just for a couple hours once or twice a month. (You do not want to be a self-centered, asshole adult. They are the worst).

Stop by the farmers market and buy some produce for the week. And remember, those expensive, fresh, local, organic apples are not meant to just fill up space in your fruit bowl. Be sure to actually eat all the food you buy.

BRUNCH! Double adult points if you host a brunch at your house.

Spend a couple hours cleaning your house. Yes, even though you tell yourself that this week you will be better about keeping it tidy, your house will inevitably be messy again by Tuesday. Clean it anyway.

Do your laundry. Put all your clean clothes away within 30 minutes of completing your laundry. This does not mean dumping them in a pile on the chair in your room.

Day drinking is reserved for special occasions, such as Bay to Breakers, Pride, weddings, Giants games, friends backyard birthday BBQs, and sunny days in Dolores Park. Ah, who am I kidding? Day drinking on the weekend is acceptable almost always.

Weekend trips to any number of national parks, wineries, or quaint costal towns are also encouraged.

Saturday nights now involve dinner parties, shows, and casual drinks rather than pre-gaming, keg stands and dancing on tabletops. Although, I am not totally convinced that dancing on tabletops isn’t an adult thing.

              Christmas Branch with dad and sister, Christmas eve 2008

Growing up in our house, tradition was something that we held onto fiercely and tightly, especially around the holidays. And while some traditions did fade there are constants that have remained from year to year. For example:

Christmas eve dinners shared with the same group of people for the better part of 45 years.  The venues have changed and the number of guests fluctuates but the company has always been amazing. The winning combination of Handel’s Messiah and Raffi’s Christmas album playing on the stereo or if we were really lucky we would have the pleasure of listening to 20 different versions on “Silent Night” on a cassette tape –the gift that kept on giving. Given to us from our Uncle Mick. This was a Christmas staple. And then there was the Christmas tree.  To me, at least to the pre-adolescent version of myself, this was the MOST important tradition. After all, what is Christmas without a Christmas tree?  What would we sit around on Christmas morning to open the nylons and granola bars that were so graciously gifted to us from jolly old Saint Nick? What would we do with all the ornaments that had been handed down to us from previous generations? Where would the electronic train run, if not at the foot of an evergreen?  How could we carry on the tradition that is Christmas without a tree? Well on a Christmas holiday sometime during the height of my pre-adolescent angst, I found out. I awoke one cold December morning to my dear father walking in the house from the backyard carrying a 15’ tall branch he had just trimmed from one of the fruitless Mulberry trees. “Um, what the f—k is that, Dad?” - me

                                  Photo Credit: Genevieve Rosengren  

Throughout my 25 years on earth I have endured the ebbs and flows of kickass-ness and timidness. I have had moments of great boldness and fearlessness almost as often as I have had moments of complete and total self-doubt, where all I can do is hide under the covers and hope for a better day tomorrow.

As a child, I was not much of a risk taker. I was scared and timid and way too cautious for my own good. I would sit on the side of the sandbox while my friends would fly high on the swings. I would opt out of sleepovers because I was a homebody and the thought of leaving my family for the night was more than I could bare. I would kick back in the shallow end of the pool, with my floaties on, while my friends were doing back flips into the deep end. None of it really seemed to phase me, I was perfectly content playing it safe.

As I have grown older I realized that I don’t want to live my life “playing it safe”.  I started having these moments. Maybe they were lapses in judgement or maybe they were moments when I remember that I am more audacious than I give myself credit, that I am not that timid little girl anymore. They were the moments when I step out of my comfort zone, look the world in square in the eye and just go for it, whatever "it" may be. 

Traveling and volunteering abroad as a teenager in the throes of my “homebody years”, doing a year of service with AmeriCorps instead of defaulting to college, exposing my vulnerability by oversharing personal information on my blog, and letting myself fall in love are just some of the risks I have taken as a young adult that have had incalculable payouts. As a result of taking those risks I learned my strengths. I felt empowered and brave and like nothing could ever possibly bring me down.

While reveling in the aftermath of my successes, I would always try to store away that feeling for a rainy day because I knew that feeling wouldn’t always last.

Unfortunately not all of my risks have had happy endings. This is bound to happen. My moments of boldness have been matched almost equally by moments of complete and total fear. The moments when I was wrong, when things seemed impossible, when all I can do is throw myself a pity party. 

This is not my favorite place to be and so my challenge recently has been to pull myself out of the deep, dark, sad, pity-party place and remember that I am infact kind of kickass. I have to remember that even if risks don’t end in successes, they are still worth it. I will have days when I try my hardest and still fail.  On those days, I have to pull from whatever bit of awesome I have stored away in my “rainy day fund” and I have to let that awesome shine. On those days I have to remember not to be held back by the doubt or the fear and I have to remember that in the big scheme of things, everything will be okay. I open the windows, take off my PJ’s, eat a breakfast bagel, and go do something great.

I know risk taking can be a luxury that not everyone is afforded and I am beyond grateful that I come from circumstances which have allowed me to take the occasional risk. I don’t have children, I am not married, I have family and friends who are probably a little too supportive, I have every excuse to take the occasional risk. It is for these reasons that I have been able to take risks, make mistakes, learn from them and keep moving forward.

                                                       Anna and I, circa 1995

These are just a few things I wanted to tell you on your birthday, as you enter your 40’s:

I will always look up to you, even though I now tower over you at whopping 5’10”.

I forgive you for when we were younger and you would pin me down and tickle me until I was on the brink of peeing my pants.

With 15 years between us, our time at home didn’t always overlap but I am grateful for the times when it did. Even through the worst of it, I still would look to you to learn about how to be an adult.

I really appreciate that you were the first one to push the limits with mom and dad and blaze the trail for the rest of the Schmidt kids. It made my life a lot easier growing up.

I am so thankful  for you bringing two beautiful boys into the world. I know it hasn’t always been easy but those two little guys have been such a gift to all of us.

You’re one of the toughest people I know. And even though most of my friends find you slightly intimidating, your strength and your ability to stand up for yourself and the people you love are qualities I so admire.

I know that right beneath your tough exterior is a giant, generous heart. The compassion and love you have for not only your family and friends but also for total strangers, the patients you care for everyday, is just one of the things that makes you so amazing.

Despite what some might say, I think your sarcasm and your sense of humor are such outstanding gifts. You always remember to laugh. To laugh at yourself.  To laugh through all of the joys and through all the heartbreaks that life throws at us. It’s one of my favorite things that I have learned from you.

When people say that they think we are twins and I act like I am horribly offended because you are 15 years my senior, I’m not really. I secretly think it is a wonderful compliment because I think you’re a wonderful, beautiful, intelligent woman.

So my dear sister, my wish for you as you embark on this new decade is that you keep doing all the things that make you so uniquely you, all the things that have made you one of my favorite people. Keep laughing. Keep loving. Keep dancing. Keep making art. You have brought so many wonderful gifts to the world in the last 40 years and I hope you continue to do so for at least another 40.

A letter from a 12 year old girl to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. 

Thank you for your note. I want to preface my response by saying that I am going to respond the way I would respond to a friend and not as someone who has any authority on the subject of how to be a functional 25 year old.

You wanted to know what my advice would be for someone who is not your "typical 25 year old." I am fairly certain there is no such thing as a typical 25 year old. I know 25 year olds with children in kindergarten and I know 25 year olds who have the emotional maturity of a kindergartener.  I know 25 year olds who make six figure salaries and I know 25 year olds who sleep on their parents couch. I know 25 year olds who have lived in the same town their entire life and I know 25 year olds who have lived on five continents. They are all great people.

One of the common threads between them is that they have their own insecurities and their own worries. They worry if they are making the right decisions for their future. They worry about whether or not they are truly happy. They worry about whether or not they are living up to their fullest potential. The list could go on. There is almost an infinite number of things that people our age worry about.

So I guess my advice for you is to try your hardest not to worry, which I know it is a lot easier said than done. Take comfort in knowing that while you might not be a “typical 25 year old” neither is anyone else. Take comfort in knowing that you are not alone. This thing that we are going through right now, this common experience of going through your twenties, has been done millions of times before by people from all over the world.

I think all you need to remember is that you are wonderful. Without even knowing you I can say with 100% certainty that you are doing a great job at (almost) being 25.

                                    Me on my 25th birthday. 

I turned 25 this year and I had a bit of a quarter life crisis. I felt like I didn't know what I was doing and I was looking for advice on how to navigate this crazy adventure that is my 20's. So for my birthday I asked my family to write a letter to themselves at 25, imparting some kind of wisdom or advice to their former self that they wish they had known at my age. My family is pretty cool and they are all people who I look up to, so I was excited to see what they would have to say. 

I have loved reading the responses I have received (I actually might have used one or two of them). Reading their letters inspired me to write down things I want myself to know now, at 25. So I did. Without further ado, here is my list of 25:

Most of the time, you don’t know anything about anything. That was true when you were 15 and that will be true when you are 65. You do, however, know how to be a good person and you know how to follow your heart. Keep doing that and you’ll be just fine.                                                                                                           

Don’t go on Facebook so much. Seriously, it’s a waste of time.                                                                                                          

You’re 25. You’re not in college anymore. You know how to cook a healthy meal. STOP EATING TOP RAMEN, your body doesn’t like it.                                                                                                 

Also, it’s time to start drinking a little more responsibly. You started too young and you’ve been in this game for over a decade. However, unlike when you were 15 no one is going to think you are any cooler for taking that extra tequila shot. Slow down on the booze.                                                                                        

Remember to always love your big strong legs, your bubble butt, the plumpness of your head, the way your eyes squint when you smile, and the petiteness of your lips. They are precious family heirlooms that have been handed down to you from generations of brilliantly beautiful people.                                                            

Be grateful for that moment when you decided to stop being such a sarcastic asshole and let your guard down long enough to fall in love and let someone fall in love with you. Even if it ends in heartbreak, it is still one of the greatest adventures you have been on.                                                                                              

Speaking of adventure, keep doing it. Travel the world as often as money and time will allow because you know how invaluable those experiences are but don’t forget about the smaller adventures. Those weekend getaways with your best friends, the 3 days spent caravanning around the state to help your brother and sister-in-law move into a new house, or the afternoons spent in a retirement community with your parents. Those experiences are just as invaluable and they fill your soul.                                     

Always make time for your parents. They might live for another 67 years...but they probably won’t. Enjoy the time you spend with them. Don’t try to rush off the phone when they are telling you about their week. Enjoy getting to know them as their adult child and realize that they still have a lot to teach you.                                                                                                                                            

In fact, make time for everyone in your life. You have a lot of people in your life who you love and who love you, be grateful. Don’t ever become one of those people who just gets too “busy.” Make time for the walk in the park, the cup of coffee, the glass of wine, the phone conversation. Make time.                                                                                                                                                                           

Posture. Work on that. That curve in your back is going to be a lot more painful when you’re 70.                                                                                                                                                                                                              

You’re kind of turning into a grouch. Stop that. Immediately. Yes, life has thrown you some pretty awful curve balls over the years. That will continue to happen until you die, it’s part of life. Let it make you grateful for all that you have. Let it make you stronger for having made it through. Let it make you compassionate for the 7 billion other people in the world who are dealing with their own struggles. Don’t let it make you bitter, don’t let it make you cynical, and DO NOT, whatever you do, let it take away your sunshine.                                                                                                                                                                                         

Stop comparing yourself to your peers. You do you. You’re good at that.                                                                                            

Stop worrying so much about what your job is going to be. It’s boring. Yes, you need to make money. But more importantly, you need to make a life for yourself. You need to make community. You need to make yourself and others happy. You need to make the world a better place. There are a lot of other things you need to make, don’t get so caught up in finding a job that you forget to make them.                                                                                 

Keep writing. Know that some of the things you write will be really bad. Write anyway. Write because it makes you happy. Write because it’s important to have hobbies. Write because sometimes, on very rare occasions, the things you write will be more powerful than you would have ever thought possible.                                                                                                                                

Keep going after the life that you want live. I am going to be really pissed if 65 year old Mary is sitting alone in a house in the suburbs with 10 cats. Unless of course somewhere along the way that is what I decided I want, in which case it's totally fine.                                                                                                                       

It is good to have a plan but remember that it is OK to wander off the path a little and get lost. You have an amazing support system that will be there with you through it all.                                                                                                                                                                                     

Please don’t sell out. You’re better than that.                                                                                                                                      

Be thankful that you are the youngest in your family and you have been able to learn from the mistakes of your siblings. But also be thankful that you are able to learn from their success and the wonderful people they have become.                                                                                                                                                                          

Be fearless and be brave. You are no longer the two year old little girl who was scared to go in the sand and walk down stairs. You are the young woman who has traveled the world, worked for causes you believed in and taken on a multinational financial institution. You are brave and you are fearless. Don’t forget it.                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Even though you really want a dog, wait. You can barely take care of a fish.                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Same goes for kids. Just wait. I’m sure you’ll make a great mom one day but that day doesn’t have to be anytime soon.                                                                                                                   

Read more books. Blogs are great. Online media is great. But don’t forget to close your computer every once and awhile and pick up a real book or a newspaper.                                                                                                                                                   

Believe in something bigger than you. Something that you will never understand. Whether it’s God or the Universe just believe in something because when everything else fails, which is bound to happen, all you’ll have left is your faith that things will get better.                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Always spend time in nature. Work in the garden and get dirt in your nails. Look up at the redwoods and know that you will never see the top. Stand at the edge of the ocean and wonder what’s beyond the horizon. Take it all in.                                                                                                                                                                                     

I have been in a relationship with a great guy for the last year but prior to finding my Mr. Man, I was one of those people that enjoyed dating for the sake of dating.

As a young single woman living in a city full of men, (albeit sometimes emotionally unavailable and at times kind of douchey men), I took on the city like it was my playground. I would go on dates as often as I could. Blind dates, online dates, dates with men who were totally wrong for me, dates with men I met at poorly lit bars after having one too many cocktails...I just really liked dating. And I like to think I was pretty good at it. (Although, some of you who are reading this and have had the pleasure of taking me out on a date might disagree). I could schmooze with the best of them, I was charming, I was funny--at least I thought I was after a couple of drinks. I enjoyed getting dressed up in uncomfortable clothes to go meet someone I barely knew. I loved feeling butterflies in my stomach and getting excited about the possibility that there might be a second date. I loved going home after a date and wondering if he would call. Carefully planning the perfectly witty but not too desperate response to his text.

After several years of dating I learned that if the date went badly, and believe me....a lot of them did, not to worry too much about it. I chalked it up as a learning experience. Even if I really hoped that it would work out, I was able to shrug it off and move forward.

Why is it then, I wonder, that I can’t have the same attitude about the job hunt. After quitting my job of five years in an effort to curb a full on mental and emotional breakdown and in hopes of kicking my butt into gear, I have been actively looking for a job for a little over a month. However, if I am being totally honest I have been passively looking for a new job for the better part of a year.

What I have learned through all of this is that there are a lot of parallels between dating and the job hunt. Getting dressed up in uncomfortable clothes, trying to sell someone on the idea of how great you are. Then, if they buy the idea that you might be even a little bit great, you have a conversation with that person about exactly how great you are, and how great they are, and how great you could be together. The whole time you are wondering if they like you as much as you like them, wondering if you would be a good match, wondering if they are going to choose someone else instead of you. After the initial meeting you anxiously wait to hear back. And then, if or when the rejection comes you learn how to deal with it and move forward.

In my mind the job application process is a lot like meeting a stranger out at a bar. In the dating world I had no fear. I would saunter right over to a Mr. Man and strike up conversation. Sometimes we would hit it off. Sometimes he would look at me like I was crazy and just walk away. And sometimes he would seem genuinely interested and he would get my number and then never call. Over the years, I learned how to deal with all three scenarios. If there was an interest I knew how to lock down a proper date. I dealt with the rejection. I stopped telling myself that he lost my number and realized he was never interested.

However, continuing on with the jobs metaphor, unlike the initial meeting in a bar, when it comes to applying for jobs, I have no game. I just feel desperate and needy. I’m awkward and shy. I can’t network to save my life. After I apply for a job I stare hopelessly at my phone and every time it buzzes, I’m sure it’s my future boss. And when a prospective employer does show some interest, I jump all over the opportunity. No three day rule. No playing it cool. I develop a little school girl crush. Safe to say I have a lot to learn because the rejection is still pretty painful and I have not yet mastered the art of securing an interview.

But every once and awhile I get it right and there is that first date or interview, as the case may be. In the dating world I never got nervous before a date. Maybe a little excited but I could always play it cool. Sometimes I would do a little facebook stalking or “digital investigating”, if you will, to get a better idea of what I was getting myself into and maybe come up with a few talking points. Eight out of ten times, it wasn’t a total disaster.

So far I haven't had the same luck when I go in for a job interview. Sometimes I am charming and witty and articulate. But sometimes, I am a bumbling idiot. I get nervous, sweaty palms, red in the face, you name it. The latter usually happens when it’s a job I am really excited about. It’s like I’m on a date with someone I really like and instead of being fun and flirty or at the very least just being myself, all I can do is spill my drink all over his lap. No matter how much I know or think I know about them, no matter how much I prepared, I will still usually ramble on about toe nail polish or some other nonsensical thing.

"So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it. Denounce the government and embrace the flag. Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands. Give your approval to all you cannot understand. Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias. Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant, that you will not live to harvest. Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold. Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years. Listen to carrion – put your ear close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come. Expect the end of the world. Laugh. Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts."

-Wendell Berry

From the Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front 

You know when you’re a kid and it seems like everything your parents do is horribly embarrassing? I think a prerequisite to becoming a parent is you have to learn how to thoroughly embarrass your kids.

For me, the embarrassment came in many forms. It came in the form of a 15 foot tall branch suspended in my living room masked as a “Christmas tree.” It came when my mom decided to turn her midlife crisis into a very colorful art project all over our house. It came when my dad refused to drive a car and would ride his bike all around town. It came when we raised chickens in our little suburban backyard. It came when I had to explain to my friends at sleepovers where to put their food scraps because my parents insisted on composting.

As a teenager it was all just so mortifying. Why couldn’t my parents just be normal? Why wasn’t there an evergreen in our living room every December? Why weren’t our walls some shade of beige? Why couldn’t my parents just drive an SUV like everyone else’s parents?

Eventually, I grew up. I grew out of any (er, most) teenage angst or insecurities I had and I now feel the exact opposite of embarrassed every time I hear about my parents new endeavors. This weekend I was visiting my parents in their new house and I found myself talking with my mom about when we could take down the wallpaper and paint the walls some fun bright colors. I found myself cringing when I had to throw away food scraps instead of putting them in the compost. I found myself over-joyed when I went for a ride with my dad on his is new bike—his new solar-powered 3-wheeled bike. A bike that will hopefully give him the mobility and independence he needs.

I now know that my parents are not normal. They are anything but normal and I love them for that. They have always done things a little differently than most people I know. Everything they do, they do with love and passion and purpose. Watching them, learning from their example taught me to always strive to do what I love, to do something that matters and whether they meant to or not they taught me to not settle for anything less than that.

The new year has brought on two big self-realizations. The first is that I am becoming kind of a stress case and the second is that I have really started to neglect my body.

Now, I know how annoying it is when people lamet minor increases in weight. I know I am not morbidly obese or anything. All I am saying is that I am not as physically fit as I once was and each year I become more aware that I am not getting any younger and I need to take better care of my body.

Another fun little discovery I have had in the new year is that I have noticed my stress and anxiety levels are uncomfortably high. I have never been an anxious person and I don’t know if it’s the economy, or some kind of quarter-life crisis that John Mayer warned me about as an adolescent, or maybe it’s some deep rooted emotional problem. Whatever it is, I am not into it. Losing sleep, being on edge and grumpy, I am not a fan.

So in an effort to nip these “problems” in the bud I decided to take some action.

One of the many wonderful things about living in San Francisco is that as long as you have two legs to walk on, you can walk virtually anywhere in the city.

Realizing this, and knowing that a solid 50 minutes of cardiovascular exercise a day can work wonders for mental and physical health, I decided to add an extra 20 minutes on to my commute and walk the 2.6 miles to work. So for the last couple of months, I have laced up my old tennis shoes and made the trek from the Richmond district to the Marina where I work.

If you are familiar with the geography of San Francisco then you know that there is a nice little national park between the Richmond district and the Marina. The Presidio has a lot to offer. As a former military base it has an interesting history. As the home to Lucas films, the Walt Disney museum and a number of other startups and nonprofits, there is a fair amount of hustle and bustle so you never really feel alone. And Andy Goldsworthy’s standing art exhibit definitely leaves an impression. Oh yea, and the smell of the Eucalyptus trees on a foggy morning, that never gets old.  

So for the better part of the last two months I have been walking through the park. Giving me a chance to clear my head, breath in some fresh air and just be quiet. This is the closest I will probably ever come to meditating but so far, it’s working for me.

And on days when I oversleep, and have to run to catch the bus and am deprived of my 50 minutes of quiet time I can definitely feel the difference, and I am guessing so can everyone who comes into contact with me.

I’m not one for new year’s resolutions or “best of” yearly reflections which is good because if I were, this would be about three weeks too late. However, I was sitting in my kitchen this sunny winter morning and it dawned on me that today is January 17th and that almost exactly one year ago, to the day, is when I got a call from my oldest sister giving me the news that my childhood home was going to be auctioned off on the steps of city hall.

This got me thinking.

The last 12 months have been pretty incredible and probably deserve a moment for reflection. This year taught me a lot. Yes, at times it kicked my ass, it broke my heart and it was a lesson that corruption and evil can exist in the world.

But more importantly this year lifted me up. It reminded me what love is. It taught me that community is far more powerful and far more important than greed and corruption will ever be. It reminded me that good things can happen to good people. It reminded me that miracles can in fact happen.

Twelve months ago I could not have imagined how lucky I would feel today. Lucky that I have such a caring, supportive, loving group of friends. Lucky that I have a family that can come together and laugh…or cry…but usually laugh, through some of life’s toughest challenges. Lucky because so many people face far more difficult challenges and are equally deserving and do not have the happy ending that my family and I had.

Sitting in my living room on that cold rainy day last January, I could not have imagined that this would be the story I would be telling one year later. I couldn’t have imagined I would have been able to have one more birthday dinner on Alejandro Drive. I could not have imagined the joy I would feel holding my newborn nephew, or watching my brother marry the love of his life, or seeing my mom being showered with admiration as she retired from a 40 year career in education. I could not have imagined that on Christmas eve I would be sitting around a table with the same friends and family who have been sitting around that table for the last 40 years.  

Dear Bank of America,

It’s weird, I feel like I’ve been here before. Sitting alone in my apartment, feeling frustrated and defeated and hopeless, just having hung up the phone with my upset mother.

It’s because I have been here before. This has been some version of my reality for the better part of two years. But I’m tired now. We’re all tired. You’ve strung us along and warn us down. But before we finally throw in the towel, I want to say one last thing.

My family and I have been through a lot in the last couple of years, but I don’t have to tell you that. You know about the school district cutting my mom’s benefits. You know about my dad suffering a stroke. You know about the mountain of bills that piled up as a result. You know all of this because I told you. And for a second, I thought you listened.

You didn’t listen though. You were completely unable to compromise, to meet my parents in the middle, to help out a struggling family whose only crime was wanting to see their children do well. My parents, like so many parents always put their children first. We wanted to go to college and they wanted to help us. They borrowed money when they should have said no. They refinanced their house at an awful time. This doesn’t make them bad people unworthy of your help, it makes them normal, loving, caring parents.

But my parents are more than just good parents. Over the years they have opened their home to people from all walks of life. They have been loving friends and mentors. They are pillars in this community.

And for a moment, I thought you understood that. I thought I heard something in your voice that said you wanted to help. I was wrong. You were unable to work with my parents and lower their mortgage payment.

What happened next is what makes me most mad. My parents, rather than just walking away, did what a responsible homeowner in their situation should do. They did a HAFA short sale. Over the last several months they have been working with a real estate agent to try to sell the house. There were interested buyers and everything was going well up until a couple of weeks ago when a young man  knocks on my parents’ door. He tells my parents he just bought their house at auction. Unbeknownst to my parents or to the real estate agent, our home had been sold for a penny over the asking price at what was a seemingly illegal auction on the steps of the Sonoma County Courthouse. 

To be clear, I didn’t like it when I thought you were being greedy but I kind of accepted it. After all,  what I construe as greed might just be how big business operates. However, what is happening now makes me mad beyond words. At best it is unethical but more than likely it also is totally illegal. What is happening to my parents right now is emblematic of some of the ugliest and most unjust parts of this country.

I am telling you this now because I’m sure you don’t know any of this happened. I am sure that my parents’ story got lost amongst the tens of thousands of other stories of families just like mine all over the country. But I am telling you this because my parents; the life they have lived, the work they have done, the love they have shared are emblematic of some of the best parts of this country. I am telling you this because as a bank that holds the name of this great country, you should do everything you can to take care of the people who make this country so great, my parents included. Bank of America, be a bank that is worthy of its name.

That’s all for now,

July 11, 2012

Dear Kaiser Permanente,

I recently received a notice from you stating that my application for your individual health care plan had been rejected because of my history of ovarian cancer. Thank you for that kind reminder; I had almost forgotten that had happened. But now that you mention it, I'm starting to remember. It was about a month into my first semester of college. I was 19 years old when my doctors discovered a tumor the size of an orange on my left ovary. I do vaguely remember the week I spent in the hospital and the month or so of recovery at home after the surgery. I also remember feeling really lucky that we had caught it so early and that it hadn’t spread and that I didn’t end up having to do chemotherapy. Also, the 6 inch scar down the center of my stomach wasn’t a good enough reminder. I don't know how, but I did, I almost forgot all about it. So thank you for reminding me.

But here is the thing…that was 5 years ago. In the time since I have fully recovered; I have kept up with all my doctors’ appointments, I have even been given a clean bill of health by my doctor, I traveled around Asia, and I graduated college. I am doing pretty well. One might even say that I am “thriving.” As an organization that encourages people to “Thrive,” it is puzzling to me that you are using my history with ovarian cancer as an excuse to deny me access to health care.

Moreover, it seems weird that you would turn down the $260 a month that I want to give you. A healthy 24 year old woman wants to pay you $260 a month so she can go to her doctor every six months and have him tell her that she is healthy and cancer free.  Now, I know it doesn’t compare to the $400 a month you want me to pay you to overlook this little smudge on my record but I’m sorry, I just can’t afford that right now. I just graduated from college; I work in a café, and live in one of the most expensive cities in the world. This won’t always be my reality but until then, can you work with me?  I am willing to meet you in the middle. I promise to pay you $260 a month. I will eat better. I will exercise more. Shoot, I will even drink less. And all you have to do is cash my check every month. Seems like a pretty good deal to me.  

I understand that it might be little risky. I think they even classify people like me as “high risk.” But let’s take a risk Kaiser, what do you say? You’ll be giving this 24 year old some serious peace of mind.

Thanks in advance.

Sincerely,

A fun little fact about me is that I have never been “grounded.” Now, this is not to say that in my twenty three years I haven’t engaged in behavior that warranted a serious “time-out”, because I definitely have.  My parents just never needed to ground me because whenever they discovered I had made a poor decision all they would have to do is look at me and say, “I am so disappointed in you.” That was all it took. I sent myself to my room.  I am not entirely sure why this strategy worked, but it did. I would always end up making the right decision.

Up until last week no one had disappointed me enough to be the recipient of those six little words of shame. After the hoopla surrounding my letter to Bank of America and their response, I was kind of hoping for a Disney channel ending. I was hoping that by some miracle this multibillion dollar financial institution grew a conscience overnight and decided to make an exception for me and my family and our house.

They didn’t. The offer that my good friend Serene at the CEO’s office was referring to was nothing more than a letter recognizing our concern and assigning us a representative at Bank of America to work with my parents. A representative with whom my parents had already been working, and who was conveniently out of the office for the last two weeks.This was pretty disappointing. I can’t say that it was all the surprising, but disappointing nonetheless.

Taking a lesson from the Maureen and Noel Schmidt Parenting Book, I decided to let Bank of America know just how disappointed I was by their action in hopes that they would see the error of their way and make the right decision. On Monday night I called back the lady at the CEO’s office. She didn’t answer so I left her a voicemail stating exactly why I was disappointed by their “offer” and that I hope they do everything in their power to make sure this has a favorable outcome.

Two days later and I haven’t received a call back from the Bank, not that I really expected one.

In the meantime, the amazing foreclosure counselor from Catholic Charities that my parents have been working with for the last couple of months is continuing to work with the Bank on my parents behalf.  My parents are more realistic about how this is going to end and are actively looking for a new place to call home before the impending auction at the end of March.

January 18th was another day in the life of a recent college graduate. I had the day off work and with the first real rainstorm of the winter pouring down on San Francisco I decided to stay indoors. Sitting alone with my coffee and my space-heater I continued on my search for a full-time job. After hours of prowling the internet looking in vain for employment, the self-loathing was really starting to sink in. Six o’clock rolled around and I was nearly at my wits’ end, when my phone rang. It was my oldest sister. She sounded distraught. She told me that my parents' last attempt to prolong the foreclosure of their house, my childhood home, had failed. The house was going up for auction tomorrow afternoon and they still had nowhere to live.

The call from my sister coupled with my already crummy day was the final straw. Feeling frustrated, angry, and hopeless, I took a break from writing cover letters and wrote a letter to Bank of America. With no intention of ever showing anyone, I wrote my “strongly worded letter” to the bank.

Fourteen months of frustration, stress, and tears unleashed on to my keyboard. Man, did it feel good to write. It wasn’t until I finished writing the letter that I considered sharing it with anyone besides myself.  After all, over the last year my family and I had mostly internalized this struggle and posting it on the internet for my whole world to see seemed a bit terrifying. Temporarily disregarding my apprehensions about making my family’s plight public domain I posted the letter to my blog.

And it seems as though it was a good thing I did. The response was amazing. Within an hour, a handful of friends shared it on Facebook, reposted it on tumblr and re-tweeted on twitter. I was greeted with warm wishes, words of encouragement, and even e-mail addresses for executives at Bank of America. Upon the recommendation of friends, I forwarded my letter to some people at Bank of America as well as some local news outlets.  I went to bed Wednesday night feeling equal parts satisfied with having actually sent the letter and astonished by the kind of support I was receiving.

That was just the beginning. I awoke Thursday morning to a message from my mom. She said that the loan counselor from Catholic Charities, in a last minute Hail Mary attempt, called the U.S. Treasury and asked them to intervene and postpone the auction…and they did. The auction would be postponed until March 21st!

Upon hearing the news, people started to rally. Over the next 24 hours my outstanding group of friends and family continued to share my letter and reach out to me and my family.  Going to bed Thursday night I was completely overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and love. That alone felt like enough. It reaffirmed what I already knew to be true; that the bank could take our house, but they could not take the love and friendships and memories that had grown in that house or in that community.

On the morning of the 20th, I was walking into work when I got a voice mail. It was from a lady at the CEO and President’s Office at Bank of America. Less than 48 hours after the letter to B of A had been drafted I received a call from the office of the CEO of Bank of America. Seriously. 

In shock, I gave myself some time to collect my thoughts.  Home from work, I sat in my kitchen trying to muster up the courage to call back this lady. I finally did. The conversation was short and direct. She knew who I was. She told me they received my letter and as a result had drafted some sort of new offer for my parents. Legally she could not disclose the details but said that they would be in contact with my parents and the offer was in the mail. And that was that. Before we hung up, I asked her how she had got a hold of my letter. She said one of the executives received it and made sure it got the CEO’s office.