Tag: life

26 Pairs of Yoga Pants and a Forced Vacation

There is nothing more fun than getting sick on vacation. Unfortunately, this is not the first time—and probably not the last.

When we went to China, pre-COVID, I came back with a nasty respiratory infection that took three months and antibiotics to clear. In Thailand, again pre-COVID, I had a terrible case of vertigo that completely threw me off. In Hawaii, two months before COVID, I came back with severe bronchitis and almost broke a rib from coughing. And this pattern has just continued through the years.

I am now on a forced vacation. Our workplace goes through a shutdown during the December holidays, and once again, my lungs are not happy. Interestingly, all my symptoms started after getting a flu shot. Coincidence? Maybe.

I had many plans for this shutdown: tidying my home office, planning ahead for 2026 for my side hustles, and going through my closet to donate all the clothes I no longer like or haven’t worn in ages.

Instead, I sat with a cup of tea, a tissue in hand, and felt miserable. Today, I felt a little better and managed to go through one shelf. To my great surprise, I discovered I own 26 pairs of yoga pants. When I told my friend, she asked, “Do you wear them all?”

Of course not, I replied. I wear the same four pairs that are always on top. So six pairs went into the donation pile, three pairs with holes went straight into the trash—without a proper Marie Kondo goodbye. It’s not a lot, but I’m celebrating this small win.

Am I upset that I got sick? Yes. But it did force me to rest and to pause. I watched silly TV shows, videos of my favorite—Nate the Hoof Guy—and took naps. In a way, it gave me permission to slow down.

I still have a couple more days off, and who knows what I’ll accomplish—if anything. And that’s absolutely okay.

The Garage Isn’t Done — But I’m Still Proud

In 2025, I started a mission to declutter. It started well, and I did manage to get through quite a lot. My goal was to have a usable two-car garage by the end of the year. But as of today, the 28th, the garage is still a one-car garage and one cluttered space.

The boxes are still there, the chandeliers we took down are still there, and so is the mess. As I’m writing this, I realize that I am my own worst enemy. Instead of being happy with what I achieved, I’m focusing on the glass being half empty.

Yes, my mission wasn’t completed, but we need to celebrate small achievements sometimes. We cleared one big shelf in the garage and donated many unused items. I finally cleared out the bathroom vanities in preparation for the bathroom remodels we’re planning for 2026 — I even chose the backsplash.

I went through all the prescription and over-the-counter medications in the house and tossed the expired ones. I also sent all the GLP injections I had to the proper disposal area.

I looked through my makeup, tossed the old products, bought some new ones (of course), and simplified my already simple routine.

We also made progress in our living room. We got a new sofa, built a cute corner library, and started working on the plants we love in that space. It’s not finished yet, but it’s getting there.

This year included both great events and challenges that affected our progress. Our middle child got married, and shortly after, my husband had a seizure. That put all decluttering on pause as we tried to understand what went wrong and adjust to our new lifestyle.

For 2026, my goal is to continue this mission — to reclaim a quarter of the garage and finish working on the office and all the paperwork stored in boxes. I’m trying to keep my goals manageable by breaking them into one small assignment per week. I’ll plan ahead, write everything down, and track my progress. And if I don’t complete everything, that will be okay too.

Here’s hoping 2026 brings fewer challenges and more balance.

 Choosing Purpose Over Pay

I choose to live my life with purpose and joy—and that choice extends to my work.

I worked eleven days in a row again—not by choice, but by necessity. Part of it was for my division, and part of it was for our parent company.

As my direct boss kept pointing out, “You’re not getting paid extra for this—why are you doing it?”

I’m an exempt employee, so in reality, it doesn’t matter how much I work. I could work two hours or twenty-four in a day, and my salary would stay the same. Maybe my bonus will be bigger, but I don’t have high hopes for that.

Yes, I wasn’t paid extra for this assignment. But I’m at a stage in my life—and my career—where I care deeply about having interest in what I do. I outgrew my current job years ago and chose to stay because it gives me flexibility. That flexibility allows me to take care of my two other loves (besides my husband and kids): my dog and my Pilates class. It also gives me the freedom to manage my side hustles.

When my boss mentioned—again—that I shouldn’t be working for another division because I wasn’t getting paid, I was taken aback. It wasn’t the response I expected, especially from someone in management.

I later told my husband how everything went down, and he pointed out that her reaction reflected her perspective, likely shaped by her own issues with management, and was not a reflection of my actions.

He was right, of course. I might even tell him that one day.

In the meantime, I’ll continue carving my own path at work—choosing projects that bring me joy and fulfillment—until the day I decide to retire and turn my side hustles into my full-time focus.

My life in the driver seat

Our lives changed this year — some for the better, some for the worse. We got a rescue dog. Our middle daughter got married. We gained a son-in-law and a new grand-dog. There were joyful events, stressful ones, and then… there was the moment now forever known as The Great Costco Seizure.

It happened back in August. My significant other — now referred to as the Passenger Prince — had a seizure. Somewhere between the BBQ chicken and the sushi display. I had sent him in to get dog food. He had other plans.

After a seizure, you’re not allowed to drive until a doctor clears you. That takes time — tests galore, appointments galore. And when you’re a two-working-adult household, it also means rearranging schedules, adapting routines, and me stepping into my new role as Warrior Princess — chauffeur, scheduler, and snack-bringer — while he became the ever-regal Passenger Prince.

Some days with the Prince are better than most. We have great conversations… and some less-than-great ones. Lucky for him, he now has me hostage every morning when I take him to work. I get to hear all about investments, the Fidelity and Vanguard accounts, and market fluctuations — again. These are topics we’ve already covered many times, but now, trapped in the car, I get the deluxe version. Normally, I can turn off my hearing aids. But when I’m driving, unfortunately, I need my hands.

Some days are less charming. Yesterday, we went to the dentist together for a couples’ teeth-cleaning date. This morning, I was the driver to the blood test appointment. I was told exactly where to park — which I ignored — and waited in the car while juggling work calls.

He came out with a plain bandage. Apparently, there are no dinosaur-themed bandages for adults.

At this point, I’m seriously considering getting us matching track suits. Warrior Princess and Passenger Prince. Maybe then — just maybe — my life will be complete.

When Fireworks No Longer Spark Joy

When Fireworks No Longer Spark Joy

The Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite U.S. holidays. For years, I’d buy my kids those iconic Old Navy 4th of July T-shirts, and we all loved the fireworks, parades, and festive fun that came with the day.

But several years ago, my love for fireworks changed.

The last Fourth of July I could still hear was during the height of the COVID pandemic. That year, it felt like everyone in the neighborhood had their own personal fireworks stash. The noise was relentless, and the dogs were not happy.

And “not happy” is an understatement—they were terrified. The fireworks didn’t stop for days. Our Airedale, Sage, went from a dog who loved long walks to one who would only go outside for the bare minimum, then rush back inside immediately.

This pattern continued for several years. As the holiday approached, so did Sage’s anxiety. What was once a cheerful, barky dog became increasingly withdrawn. Last year, just a day before the Fourth, she passed away from a heart attack. We believe the ongoing stress from the fireworks played a role.

Sage wasn’t alone—our other dogs hated them too. Every year, we’d shut all the windows, crank up the TVs and radios, turn on white noise machines—anything to help calm the pack. We even timed walks carefully to avoid dusk or random fireworks going off early.

For the past five years, someone in the family always stayed home with the dogs on the night of the Fourth. This year, that person was me. My husband and adult son were biking through Europe, and the other kids had plans. I was happy to stay home and keep the dogs company.

I did manage to attend the neighborhood parade, which was a joy. Seeing kids with their decorated bikes, full of excitement and laughter, brought back good memories.

But then night came—and it was miserable.

The fireworks didn’t stop until 1 a.m. Even without my hearing aids, I could hear them. The poor schnauzer was inconsolable, hiding in the shower or buried in the closet under my clothes. Shuki, our Airedale, wasn’t doing much better. None of us slept until silence finally arrived around 2 a.m.

As I tried to comfort the dogs, I couldn’t stop thinking about veterans and others with PTSD. How do they cope with this night? Fireworks are beautiful, yes—but they’re also loud, jarring, and triggering for many.

So I find myself wondering: should cities still sponsor fireworks displays? Is there a better way? Could we move fireworks to more remote, open areas? Or use drones and silent light shows in more densely populated neighborhoods?

I’m pondering all of this today, sleep-deprived, with two dogs still glued to my side.#FourthOfJuly, #PetSafety, #FireworksDebate, #PTSDawareness, #DogLovers.

They Found Me. My Dog’s Still Free.

I recently had to change a picture on my blog—not because of copyright issues, but for privacy reasons.

It was an old photo of me, one I really liked. It showed my face clearly, and it was a genuinely good picture. But the thing is, I’m a private and somewhat shy person. I work in a customer service role, and most of our customers live in the same area I do. That means I often run into them—at the gym, the grocery store, out walking the dogs, or even at dinner.

I try to stay as under-the-radar as possible: hat, sunglasses, sitting in the back, and minding my own business. Still, people have stopped me in public before to ask work-related questions. I usually manage to steer the conversation away, but there was one time a parent stopped me in the feminine product aisle at Target, with her teenage son, to ask me about work. My daughter, a teen at the time, and the boy were both so mortified that it was honestly kind of hilarious.

Recently, my anonymous pseudonym somehow ended up on corporate’s radar—again. There’s no mention of my name, employer, or location on the blog, but corporate still managed to find it. They didn’t like what I wrote. Ironically, they didn’t dispute anything I said; they just wanted me to know they were watching.

So this past weekend turned into a whirlwind of blocking people on social media, locking down my LinkedIn (which doesn’t even list my employer), and generally trying to cut off access to “Big Brother.” Unfortunately, that meant taking down the really good picture of myself, too.

The silver lining? My dog’s profile is still public.

#DigitalPrivacy #OnlineAnonymity #PrivacyMatters #LivingIncognito #BoundariesMatter #OfflineIsOkay #WorkLifeBalance #CorporateCulture
#OutsideOfOfficeHours#NotAtWork#FoundByCorporate#LifeBeyondWor#BlogLife
#WriterLife#PersonalBlog#RealTalk#WritingThroughIt#TrueStory