My Makeup Bag

Interestingly, I am looking for something that is conspicuously missing from my purse. A makeup bag. I have one but I don't carry it. It sits, packed, on my vanity and mostly collects dust. Every woman I know carries a makeup bag in her purse - even if its just a small one. The only makeup I regularly carry in my purse is a lipstick and it is invariably the wrong shade. I do carry a compact mirror as well - I have no idea why. However, I have an interview on Thursday and its got me thinking about the makeup bag. I'm going to need it.

In the overall scheme of the universe, I am aware that the subject of my makeup is of no importance whatsoever. I know this because so far the sun has come up every morning regardless of whether or not I have a collection of Clinique products in my bathroom drawer. But I do know it can make a difference in the way you are perceived. At least initially. And in an interview, you want to be perceived in the best possible light (dim, if it can be arranged).

A few months ago I posted my Facebook photo. It was taken on a day that I attended a "fancy country club-type event" so I had spent a great deal of time on my makeup. Once the photo was posted, right away, a couple of people commented enthusiastically what a "great picture" it is. Since then, so many people have made the same comment that it has become a mildly backward compliment. What I have come to understand it to really mean is: "What a surprisingly great photo that is. Because, you know, you don't really look like that".

When I was young (and perfect looking), I wouldn't clean a toilet without eye-liner. As I got older I made the effort less and less. Now its an effort to put it on at all. It has just become something I don't do. And I wonder, when did my schedule get so busy and full that I couldn't set aside the 5 minutes each day for a little of what my friend Jan calls "arts and crafts"? Lord knows, it certainly wouldn't be a waste of my time. About a year ago, after having had a few moments of clarity in front of the mirror, I decided I really needed to start making the effort regularly so I went to a professional for some help in designing a simple make-up regimen. I told her that I did not want to wear foundation because I thought my skin looked pretty good and I didn't like the feel of it. She assured me that it wasn't necessary. I simply had to use a little concealer to cover a few dark spots that all women (and men) get at this age. She explained to me that while I may not really notice them (because I am used to seeing them), they can make a person look older. I thought of my grandmother Mildred and, remembering her age spots, agreed. "Cover away!", I said. She took a tiny brush and went to work, dabbing each "spot". After she had found every last one of them, she gave me a mirror so that I could see where they were located. There looked to be about three hundred. At least.

I bought the foundation.

As I mull this further, I guess I'm not surprised when I realize that I do, in fact, have a daily awareness that other women - women my age - wear it and I don't. I think about it when I see the other moms at Grace's school - early in the morning - with the whole face "on" (obviously they still don't clean the toilet without it.) I am aware of it when I go to the market and hope I don't run into anyone I know (the fear of which is never strong enough to prompt me to prepare for that eventuality.) So if I am aware of it, it clearly matters to me. And if it matters to me, why do I so commit myself to not wearing it? Could anything so ridiculously unimportant as the lack of a cosmetic regime possibly be a symptom of some bigger issue?

Maybe. It is annoying how much time I have spent this week obsessing about makeup. But I think I have stumbled upon something. I think my decision to not make the makeup effort - however long ago that was - was one of many decisions I have made to "resign to the fear".

Of all the difficulties life has presented to me, I think I battle most against fear. Sometimes it is a healthy fear of something I should be afraid of and sometimes it is completely irrational. Occasionally the scale has tipped too heavily on the side of the irrational and I have had to hold hands with Celexa, but usually this fear thing is something I sort of work into my lifestyle. Sometimes the way I deal with fear is to stand in front of it and look it right in the face. But sometimes I stand in front of it and close my eyes so I can let it just go ahead and run over me. End the panic and get that horrible-thing-that-is-about-to-happen over with. I actually read about this in "O" Magazine (yes, I'm even reading her magazine). They call it a "counterphobic mechanism". This is where you run to, instead of away from what you are afraid of. Sabotage. Yup, that's me.

Now I know that none of you have ever heard of this, but getting old is something I'm actually afraid of (sort of a mixture of irrational AND real). I have always had a heightened sense of the fact that time marches on. And it isn't so much of a march as a speed run. So once I realized that achieving photogenic perfection was going to require a little more than lip gloss and mascara to do the trick, I think I just pulled out that old white flag and started waiving. I do remember in my 30's (when I really looked fabulous - I have photos to prove it!) being aware that: "I'm not going to look like this forever. They day will come when I look old and tired". And then fear must have kicked in and I thought: "And why wait for that day? There's no time like the present!" So at a time when I could have easily sustained looking my best, I stopped trying. Similarly, I think it played into the weight gain. Finding that weight maintenance was getting a little trickier, I raced to "Plus Size". "Ah! I made it! Nothing to fear. Pass me a doughnut."

This discovery has presented itself as a line drawn in the sand. I can either decide to embrace my old choices and stick to the program (or rather the non-program) or I can decide to acknowledge and address the fact that it does matter to me. To change would be hard because if I decide to switch gears and stop dodging friends in the aisles of the grocery store or wearing sunglasses inside, its going to require not only dumping but repairing some wear and tear. And I think it will mean a complete all-or-nothing effort. Not just the makeup but the weight loss, exercise. Oh the horror. This would include a regular manicure (the acrylics cannot be left to grow unfilled), the pedi must be maintained which means I must always remember to shave the hair on my feet (am I the only one?) I must wax and not bleach the upper lip (once, when bleached, the morning sun hit my face and my lip glistened like it had been touched by Midas.) I can no longer tell myself that an inch of grey roots qualifies as "highlights".

No, its gonna be a major overhaul - because at 52, unemployed with 3 kids out the door and needing the energy to do all over again with a 10-year-old, it ain't over. Its just starting. Again. And I am going to say it over and over like a mantra until I believe it.

My makeup bag is one thing I am putting in the purse.

To Purge or Not To Purge

This sorting out process is hard.  Its been nearly 20 years since I last dumped my purse.  As I sift through the contents laying out before me it is very difficult to know what is important and what is not; what I want and what I don't.   Some of the stuff that I need to examine has been in there for so long that it has stuck itself to the lining  (I must have had some gum in there.) I'm having a very hard time getting a lot of it out so that I can even identify it.  

On the one hand, it doesn't bother me too much that its stuck there.  On the other hand,  I have just been thrown a curve ball.  Should I keep to the things that will put me back on the same track - a track I know well and was not prepared to get off in the first place?  Those things have proven very important and reliable over the years.   Or do I chisel away at all that glued on stuff, toss it all and start again?  

Let me say something about starting over.  I think it could be really cool.  But it ain't for the faint of heart.

I'm a fan of Facebook.  I check it everyday.  I love that I can keep up with people at my leisure and at my own pace.  And the great thing of it is that my Facebook friends will just pop up on my "wall" to let me know what is going on without me even having to ask.  Such was the case today with Sandy. Sandy showed up on my wall because a photo of her had been "tagged".  I was able to click on the photo and see what was up with her.  Well, Sandy, who lives in New York, apparently just got a show and she is in rehearsal for it.  The photos showed her and the rest of the cast sitting in chairs around the piano for what is obviously a music rehearsal.  Sandy looks like she's having fun.  This struck me because about 17 years ago I sat in a similar environment, with Sandy and other cast members, as we rehearsed the music to a show we were all in.  It was fun.  It was also a really good show.  And it wound up being a bit of a hit.  I have great memories of that show. Yes, I used to be an actress.  Or at least I tried to be.  Sort of.  

The fact is, I am a decent singer, a so-so actress, and a really good performer.   What I mean by that is that I have a really good stage presence and I "come across".  So I did pretty well in the musical genre.   My reviews were always good.  I had an agent.  I had my union cards.  But I didn't have the courage to really pursue it.  I had a heightened awareness of my limitations and so it didn't take much for me to talk myself out of taking risks.  So while Sandy and others from that cast have gone on to find work on Broadway and tour companies - without the need for temp jobs between shows - I took the day job that led me to Disney.  

Clearly, I was not unhappy with they way that turned out so I'm not going to go on about the "path never taken".  Chances are, I wouldn't have made a living as an actress and making a living was a priority for me.  But it was something I loved.  And I had enough talent to be moderately successful without a lot of effort.  And while I was very happy in my career, I didn't seek it out.  It sort of happened to me.  As such, it required no courage.   I'm not suggesting that I should now go off and try to be the actress I "could have been".  I'm not feeling like that is something I need to do.  I'm feeling as though I need to replace the job I lost. 

The point here is that while I know what I feel I need to do,  I don't know what it is that I want to do.  I don't know that I don't want to do what I have been doing.  But does that mean that I should keep doing it?  I have been looking for jobs in magazine ad sales.  There are very few.  So I've been looking for jobs in other industries as well.  But I have been looking for jobs.  Jobs with an office and a desk and a phone and a benefits package.  And every time I submit my resume I wonder: "If I get this job, will I want to do it?"  Is there something else?  The thought of it is mildly intriguing but mostly terrifying.  

I am at a crossroads.  If I choose to look at it not as a tragedy but as a time when God is calling me to see something new, do something new, be something new - should I rush to what I have known? Even if it makes me feel comfortable again?  Even if it is responsible and reasonable? Even if it solves what feels like a big, scary problem?   Every fiber of my being is telling me that I need to feel comfort again and that I have to solve that problem.  But I gotta tell you, deep down I am beginning to hear another faint little voice.  It says: "No. Keep dumping".

Maybe my biggest challenge isn't about finding a job right now.  Maybe the biggest challenge facing me is figuring out how to peel off all that stuff that has so stubbornly stuck itself to the inside of my purse.  Maybe I'll find some courage in there.

What I Really Think of Professional Resumes

As I mentioned in my first post, I have never been unemployed until now so I never had a need for a "killer" resume.  I had a resume and it was truthful, but it was pretty basic.

When I was laid off, I had to go searching for for my resume.  It took me over a week to find it and when I did find it it seemed to me to be pretty straight forward -  I just needed to update it a bit.  My resume was created with a standard font.  It had no special graphics.  It consisted of a simple summary statement (basically what I was looking for in a job) and then a list of the considerable responsibilities I carried in my various positions.  Responsibilities,  at least I felt, spoke very well of me.  Disney offered me (as part of my severance package), several weeks with a transition company.  I showed them my resume and learned immediately that it was, frankly, sh-t (not their actual word, but it was implied).  

Oh.  Okay.

I sat with a very nice guy named Tony who explained to me what my resume needed to look like and how it needed to read.  He asked me a lot of questions about my "accomplishments".  My resume, as it stood, made no reference to any of my accomplishments.  I stared blankly at him.  What did he mean?  He explained that no one was interested in what my job responsibilities were.  Prospective employers want to know what makes me extraordinary.  What mind-blowing things had I done for the company? What big wins could I attribute to my creativity and out-of-the-box thinking?  What awards and recognitions had I received?   What super-hero feats had I exhibited?  Huh???

I needed some time to think about this.  I had felt that the fact that I had done my job well for all these years was my significant accomplishment.  I had taken on each responsibility and challenge given me, I had done the best job I could and it had paid off - for me and the company. When necessary, I went above and beyond and I worked hard to overcome obstacles, more often than not with success.  I assisted in the creation of programs and presentations and I got along well with my peers.  I did my freakin' job.  There needs to be more?

I started thinking how inadequate my accomplishment story was.  How stupid was I to have thought that simply being a loyal employee and doing my job well was what made me a valuable employee.   Why hadn't I made a point of doing something unimaginable?  I started thinking of  all those other people out there with spectacular accomplishments, who were so better qualified for any good paying job than I.  They had far more to offer a prospective employer than anything I could offer.  I probably wasn't even that talented. I had just been lucky and my luck had just run out.  I got depressed. I seriously began thinking that I may only be qualified for an entry level position.  Clearly, I could not compete with my peers.   I had just done a good job.  For 15 years.  With good performance reviews and raises. For 15 unaccomplished years.  What an idiot.  I had done nothing!

Then I began to think about others I knew who were in the same predicament.  They weren't concerned about their resumes.  They sometimes even spoke of the strength of their resumes. I had awareness of their work.  Had I missed the fireworks of their career?  Was I looking the other way when they put on a cape and flew through the clouds?  Had their employers gone into bankruptcy as a result of having let them go?  Had their accomplishments been so superior to mine?

Apparently, yes.  But actually, no.  What they had that I didn't have was spin. 

Now before I upset anyone, there are a healthy handful of people who really do have that 4.5 GPA resume to waive about.  And there are sales awards a-plenty.  My company didn't award them.  I think I would have been given at least one if they had.  (In 2005, for sure.) But it is absolutely impossible for everyone out there to have had the kind of superlative story that today's market evidently requires a resume to boast. There just isn't that much business to be gotten so spectacularly.

And then I had my Oprah "ah-ha moment".  (I've learned about the "ah-ha moment" since being laid off.  Because, yes, I have watched Oprah since being laid off.)  The "ah-ha moment" came when I realized that accomplishments could be fairly mundane.  They just need to sound amazing.  Here is an example from my own resume:

"Researched and analyzed shifts and trends in marketplace for the purpose of creating proactive, customized programs that met company and client objectives leading to increase of individual account revenues by as much as 400%."

Basically, what that means is that I stayed on top of my business by listening to my client's needs, developing a program that met those needs and increased business.  Hummmm.  That sounds an awful lot like, like... what is the word I'm looking for?  Oh yes!  Sales!  Oh and that 400% increase - that could have been taking a $30,000 piece of business and turning it into a $120,000 piece of business.  Far more spectacular was the $250,000 piece of business turned to $500,000.  But 400% sounds like a bigger accomplishment.  I can talk about the half million sale in the interview.  And your resume needs to be littered with enough of the latest corporate babble to let the reader know you're in the game.  And I think most people who use those terms regularly only know the meaning of about half of them.  That, or they hide behind them.

There is no lying in "spin".  And in truth, sometimes we do fail to recognize our own accomplishments because doing what you have to do to succeed is just part of the job.  So it can be a good thing when we are made to "drill down" (corporate babble) and find the gems.  But in the real world it was an accomplishment to simply sustain a lot of my business.  It is also the truth that I lost some as well.  And I guarantee that the owner of the 4.5 GPA resume lost business too.

In the end, I am suspicious of resumes.  I think it is ridiculous that we have to think of doing our jobs in terms of doing something incomparable.  I'll bet it has probably led to some people believing they actually have done something incomparable.  I don't know, maybe that's a good thing.  I know a resume is a critical part of the job hunt.  Maybe the most critical part of it.  But wouldn't it be great to be able to represent ourselves plainly?  It took a really long time (many appointments with Tony) and a lot of effort to turn my sh-ty little resume into something that is accomplishment based and worthy.   But if you "drill down" further, you will learn what the sh-ty resume said in the first place.  I did my best and I did my job well.  I don't think anyone can ask for more than that.

Saying Goodbye to the Mouse

So, I've turned the purse upside down and there is a pile of junk on the bed to sort through. There are a lot of keys. Keys can be hard things to get rid of. We tend to carry them around long after they have lost their usefulness. The first thing I need to deal with is a big, shiny, golden key, that is shaped like Mickey Mouse. It used to open a big important door everyday. But it no longer fits the lock. Until recently, I worked for "The Mouse" (as the Walt Disney Company is commonly referred to by its employees - otherwise known as "cast members"). Working for "The Mouse" suited me just fine. It paid well (another key). We had health insurance (another key). They gave me a car (a key with a key). The keys to my job look terrific on my key ring. They add weight and I feel important carrying a lot of keys around. Over the past couple of months, I have taken the Mickey key off my key ring, but I haven't thrown it out. It, along with all the other related keys, has been residing loose at the bottom of my purse.

My job was very special to me. Disney had always been a part of my life. When I was a little girl growing up in Fremont, California, Sunday nights meant Ed Sullivan and Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color. This was true for just about everyone from my generation - we who were little kids in the 60's. I loved Disney growing up. As a family we went to Disneyland only twice - once when I was 3 (in the photo, that's me looking in the window with my mom and sister, Linda) and again when I was 14 - but no matter. I had Disney within me. I loved the show. The opening song offered a chorale of men and women singing "The world is a carousel of color..." with a kaleidoscope of colorful shapes exploding on the screen. Even on our black and white TV set, you could feel how beautiful it was. And always Walt, talking to us kids at the beginning of each show with his kind, mellow voice. You loved him. And you just knew that if he only could meet you, he'd love you back. Walt Disney was as real in my childhood life as my own family. I felt safe in his presence - even if his presence was on TV.

I did not seek a job at the Walt Disney Company. In fact when I was offered a job there, it was just another big company and frankly, it was a little intimidating. But in 1993 I was hired away from a competitor to sell advertising space in Disney's new magazine for kids: Disney Adventures. Once there, I became immersed in the culture of Disney and quickly I developed an enormous pride at being part of this wonderful organization. I re-connected with my love of Disney. I was now part of Walt's "family" - this man I had loved as a child.

My older girls were still pre-schoolers when I took the job and so they grew up with all the magic. The first week I began working there I went to the Disney Store and bought three princess costumes (Snow White, Belle, and Cinderella) and brought them home for the girls. I have a photo of them wearing those dress that evening and there is pure joy in their faces. Working at Disney offered many perks for me and my family. The highly coveted Silver Pass allowed us to go to any of the parks any time we wanted. We had discounts galore, took Disney vacations, attended the holiday parties every year, did the amazing cruise. More importantly, it was Disney that allowed us to buy our wonderful house and move from a neighborhood with a lot of graffiti to a neighborhood with a lot of horses. Working for Disney changed all of our lives dramatically. We went from "struggling" to "middle-class" overnight. I never lost awareness of that. It was a wonderful job. In fact, it was more than a job. It was a lifestyle. We were a "Disney Family". And we felt very safe in this "House of Mouse".

Every day, I went to a beautiful window office in Burbank. The view was spectacular from the 17th floor. At one time, my office overlooked the Warner Brothers Studios and the Hollywood hills. At another time, it overlooked the mountains and the city of Burbank. I decorated my office with framed pictures of my family and artwork that I liked. We were all "outfitted" with Disney coffee mugs, drinking glasses, and a wide array of "Cast Member Excusive" swag. I was very comfortable there. I visited every day with my family of Disney colleagues and friends. We knew each other and each other's families. We laughed and worked together. Sometime we fought - but rarely -and we always found our way back to one another. I spent as much time with these people as with my own family. Meryl especially - we started with the company within a month of each other and our offices were always right next to each other.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't perfect. As with all things there were good days and bad. There were people I loved and people I really didn't. There was a lot of pressure. There were many internal changes over the years - magazines launched and folded and each transition was difficult. But for most of the 15 years that I was there, I would wake up and actually look forward to going to work.

The job itself was fun. I would meet and build relationships with a wide variety of people. I liked my clients and for the most part they liked me. Doing business was like making friends. It was not always easy. I worked hard to win the business. Sometimes I lost and that was never a good day. But the good outweighed the bad. And mostly, I was successful - until the last couple of years when everything felt like an uphill and un-winnable battle.

On January 20, 2009, after struggling against mounting challenges that faced the magazine publishing industry as a whole, Disney ceased publication of the magazine I had been working for. After 15 years, I was let go on March 31st, along with many other staffers, sales people, and editors. Let me tell you, losing a job is a horrible feeling, but losing a 15 year career at a place that you love feels like a death. And I have grieved the loss of my job for a long time now.

But lately I have been a bit disturbed by my attachment. After all, I am not really a member of the Disney family. And how can a brand make me safe anyway? Am I not more than an advertising account manager? Is there nothing else I can say about who I am than what I do? Is my value really tied up in the ownership of a SILVER PASS? This group of friends and colleagues - we developed genuine friendships (I truly miss them all) but we almost never socialized outside of the workplace. And have I lost sight of the fact that Disney didn't just give me a salary and benefits? I actually did a job for them. And I was good at it. I made a lot of money for them. My youngest daughter was stricken by the loss. Having her mom work for Disney was a source of pride for her. And while I hadn't realized it, she had grown to define herself as a "Disney kid" - which wasn't so healthy because while her kindness and support toward me during this time was unbelievably moving, she sobbed for weeks in the privacy of her room not because I had lost my job but because I had lost my job with Disney. To console her, I feel a need to remind her regularly that we are still a "Disney Family". Except we are not a "Disney Family". We are a Smith family.

Is the fact that I am laid off scarier because I have lazily defined myself by the company I worked for? Is it not possible that I owe gratitude to the Walt Disney Company not only for hiring me, but for laying me off as well? I am beginning to see this layoff as a gift. At 52 years old, I am forced redefine myself. I have to look in the mirror and think about who I really am. I am embarrassed to admit I cannot honestly say who I really am right now; this is a confusing time. But this I know: I am not my job.

I love my golden key shaped like Mickey. I love everything about it. I love what it stands for. I love the memories it represents. I love the way it feels in my hand. Parting with it is extremely painful and I am afraid to not have it with me. But it has lost its usefulness. It has become part of a big pile of clutter. And it is headed for the garbage.

Dumping My Purse - June 22, 2009

About 20 years ago, when it seemed like my entire world had fallen apart (divorce, failed love affair, and a dead-end career), I sat in a bar in Hollywood with a friend of mine and poured out my soul. After a lengthy monologue (and lots of Kleenex), I sat quietly and waited for a sympathetic response. My friend, with pithy wisdom beyond his years, looked me in the eye and said, simply: "You know Valri, sometimes you've just gotta dump your purse". I have remembered those words from time to time and have acknowledged that they are of course, much easier to say than to do.

"Dumping your purse" does not mean getting a new one. Your purse is your purse and while you CAN get a new one, it will ultimately wind up stuffed inside the old one. Eventually, you'll need to get rid of it. Dumping your purse means exactly what it sounds like. All women know the exercise of dumping a purse. You must set aside real time for it. You literally turn the bag upside down and let fall ALL of the contents. Then you must painstakingly go through it all, paper by paper, loose coin by loose coin, gum wrapper by gum wrapper, unused coupons, old Kleenex, a great photo, postage stamps, lost earrings, band aids, sales receipts, warranties, "to-do" lists, "to-get lists", phone numbers, tampons, nail files, that bill you thought you'd paid, pens, crap you bought and don't know what to do with, ALL OF IT - and commit to tossing the majority of it. Once you find it, you go through your wallet and clean that out too - tossing old business cards, worn post-it notes, fortune-cookie fortunes. You straighten out the bill department, put things away and in order. When you are done, all that is left is your neat, organized wallet, some beloved photos, whatever money was in there, your keys, and a lipstick. But you're not done yet because if you're serious about this, you have to get the vacuum and suck out all the crumbs and dust bunnies from the bottom of the bag - making sure to get all the corners and creases. Only then can you return what is really essential and generally, the bag weighs about 11 pounds less. But MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL - you MUST toss the rest in the garbage where it belongs. You CANNOT leave any of it on a dresser to be later sifted through again. You cannot give any time to consider if you might still want some of what you just took out. If you do, in a matter of days it will all be back in the purse. There's just no where else to put it.

The point of all this is that yesterday I turned 52, and in this unprecedented and miserable economy, I find myself unemployed for the first time in my entire life. I have three daughters grown and ready to leave and one still in elementary school. My husband's career is precarious and the future I have always had clearly in my vision has disappeared. I see nothing in its place and it is unnerving. So yesterday, on a birthday I didn't want to acknowledge, I took a look in the proverbial mirror and saw myself appearing pretty scared and holding on for dear life to my purse. My rather heavy purse. The big, huge black hole of a purse that I carry with me everywhere I go. Taking a look inside of it, I saw that it is a mess of things that I believed helped define me but now just remind me of who I am not and that I am really afraid.

Clearly, a purse dumping is in order.

I thought I'd dump it here, on this blog so that I can be accountable for doing it and so that anyone else who needs to dump her purse will know that she is not alone. So today is day one. I'm about to turn it upside down.