Amy Lu's View

I recently pulled one of my mother’s favorite tricks: The Exploding Can of Soda in the Freezer. 

Yes, I put a can of Coke Zero in the freezer to quickly cool it, forgot about it, and hours later found its frozen contents all over the freezer. (Okay, the frozen Coke Zero wasn’t really ALL OVER the freezer and was relatively easy to clean up, but, as I often do, I’m prioritizing dramatic effect over accuracy). 

What really made it a Colleen Move, though, is that I immediately started blaming Chad for this incident. No, my mom would NEVER have blamed Chad, who was clearly her favorite human, for any mishap, but she would have blamed my dad. In my mom’s world, my dad was responsible for EVERY mishap, annoyance, or tragedy she experienced, and many she just heard about. (To be fair, many things were my dad’s fault, but even he could only cause so much mayhem). 

So when I encountered the exploded Coke Zero and automatically started blaming my spouse for something that was clearly my fault, I was in full Colleen Mode. 

How was the frozen Coke Zero Chad’s fault, you may ask? Well, if he hadn’t drank the last properly refrigerated can of Coke Zero (which I don’t know if he actually did), I wouldn’t have been forced to put one in the freezer in the first place. And then he probably did something to distract me so I didn’t take it out of the freezer before it exploded (not sure what that was but given time I could think of something). 

In that moment of annoyance and ridiculousness, I felt really close to my mother. I’d like to think I feel my mother’s presence when I’m generous or loyal or helpful, and I do, because my mother was all those things. But I really thought about my mother, felt like I was my mother, when I blew up a pop can. 

Is that really my mom’s legacy? This little quirky habit she had? Maybe–or at least part of it. Will Chad really remember me for being unable to open bags of chips and boxes of crackers without destroying them? And leaving him annoying notes to inform him that the dishes in the dishwasher are clean (with the subtext that if “you put dirty dishes in with them I will murder you”).[Editor Chad’s Note: It’s not subtext; it’s definitely text] Probably. In some ways, I hope so. Being remembered for the little details about our peculiar ways, even if they annoy our loved ones, means that we are really known. 

As I was cleaning up the Coke Zero mess, I wanted to message my sister about it. She would have totally gotten how I was channeling our mom. She would have been amused (or at least pretended to be). 

In the almost twenty three years since my mom died, I miss her all the time, in big and little ways. I don’t like it–I hate that she’s dead and that she’s been gone so long–but the pangs of loss usually don’t surprise me anymore. Feeling the loss is just part of who I am now. 

But I’m not used to missing my sister yet. She died only about 4 months ago, so I’m still surprised and confused sometimes when I think “Oh I’ll send Jenn a message about this” and then realize I can’t. 

So there I was in our kitchen, missing my mom, and my sister, and my dad, and thinking about how my mom died so long ago that Coke Zero hadn’t even been invented yet. I felt a little like that can of Coke Zero myself–my emotions, like the soda, all weird and messy and no longer able to be contained. 

My frozen Coke Zero can metaphor feels silly and overdramatic, and yet true. So I might as well carry it even further: Just like exploding Coke Zero, my emotions, my grief, may at times be uncontrollable and inconvenient, but I shouldn’t try too hard to avoid them– at least they’re calorie free. 

I have successfully grown a Chia pet! (Not sure “grow” is the right verb…Raised? Sprouted? Conjured?)

I didn’t plan to be a Chia pet parent, but we received a Groot Chia pet years ago–pre-pandemic–from our Loot Crate subscription service for geekly merchandise. 

I kept waiting for a special time to start Chia Groot, and finally took the plunge last Thanksgiving. 

I gave it my best effort. I even read the directions–something I deeply dislike doing and try to avoid at all cost. 

I watered it and waited and watched. My Chia Groot never grew. 

I was disappointed, but not surprised. Growing plant life (other than the mold on our shower curtain) has never been one of my fortes. 

So I took a break and tried again in January of this year. And, I failed again. 

Hmmm, maybe there was a problem beyond my ineptitude? Perhaps the chia seeds were “stale” since I had waited so many years to try and get Chia Groot to grow. 

So I ordered some new seeds via Amazon, and gave it another whirl. And…it worked! Mostly. Sort of. My Chia Groot did grow, but only in certain spots. 

Chad and I surmised that the problem was I didn’t water Groot’s head fully, so bolstered by that knowledge and experience, my fourth time growing Chia Groot was a bona fide success! No, Chia Groot didn’t have perfectly evenly distributed chia hair, but can any of us claim our hair is perfect?

Of course I’ve told my Chia Groot story as often as possible, and various people have remarked, “You tried it FOUR times?” Yes, my four attempts are amazing–because it took me four attempts to succeed and something rather easy, but more importantly, because I didn’t give up. I often abandon endeavors when I get frustrated, so it does feel good to persist at something and have it pay off. 

Watching my Chia Groot sprout and grow day by day was so satisfying. One day I even told Chad, “I think I could just sit here and watch my chia pet grow.” He replied, “That would probably be a good thing.”

While I bask in the glow of my Chia Groot success, my overall state of house plant management is mixed. I think one of the house plants that Chad got me for my birthday in March of 2022 has officially died. My second attempt at growing a mini-sunflower seems to be going well but there are some disconcerting white flakes in the soil and a few wilted leaves that are making me nervous. 

But I can’t let these failures and worries diminish the joy of my Chia Groot triumph. I can’t expect everything to go well all at once. 

And all things come to pass–especially chia pets who are particularly ephemeral. Luckily, my research into chia pet farming alerted me that they get “leggy” (basically collapsing under the weight of their awesomeone) and that a chia pet owner will want to start their chia pet over.

Yes, it’s the circle of life. I’m not quite ready to take the plunge and reboot my Groot Chia but I’m starting to gear myself up. 

I even got so excited by my Chia pet success, I ordered two more chia pets–a Chia Grogu and a Chia Unicorn. No, I didn’t get Bob Ross. Nothing against Bob Ross, but I just don’t have any connection to him. I did contemplate getting a Chia Llama or Chia Joe Biden, but I decided to go with Grogu and a unicorn because there was a special that made them slightly cheaper if purchased together. (This purchase was made with some anxiety beyond the normal “making a decision” anxiety–I still have an indoor oyster mushroom kit and a Stir Fry seed pop to plant, and here I am, buying more Chia Pets!)

Chad’s response when the chia pets were delivered: “What, are we going to have a chia pet farm?”

I hope so. As soon as I have the time and brainpower (yes, Chia pet planting DOES take my brainpower) and the forecast promises a couple of sunny days in a row, I’m going to try. A middle-aged lady can dream. 

“Mother isn’t here now…” (from the “Into the Woods” song “No One is Alone”)

The first time we saw the Sondheim musical “Into the Woods,” it was relatively recently after my mom died, and the song “No One Is Alone” slayed me. I had what I’ve come to think of as a “Killing Me Softly” experience: Feeling extremely moved and vulnerable while reacting to and identifying with art in public.

I felt like this song about having a dead mother and finding solace in connection with others was MY song. I felt affirmed and comforted and also extremely embarrassed, because I felt like everyone in the audience noticed me sobbing. (I think I actually merely shed a tear or two–a pretty extreme display of emotion on my Midwestern Lutheran index, but undetectable to most human perception). 

After recently seeing “Into the Woods” for the third time, (this time at the Guthrie), I’m struck by how my main takeaway from the song changed. Yes, it’s still a beautiful song about loss and hope, but more powerfully, a song about trying to decide the best thing to do when confronted with difficult choices. “Mother” isn’t here now to guide you, and you need to figure some hard stuff out. 

Even more challenging, “No One Is Alone” isn’t just a promise, but also a bit of a threat. Sure, you’re not alone, and that’s comforting, but…your choices don’t affect just you. That’s a responsibility. And the giant you (or your friend) just killed isn’t alone either. We all have people. Which is wonderful, and also somewhat terrifying. There are consequences. 

Although I could go on and on plumbing the depths of “No One Is Alone” (much less the musical in its entirety, don’t get me started on the emotional and spiritual journey of the Baker’s Wife), I won’t–none of us have time for that. But I will ponder and appreciate how the meaning we make of art changes as we change.

I typically don’t do repeat viewings or readings of pieces–I’m not one of those people who sees a movie multiple times. I feel lucky if I make time to see or read something once–there’s just so much to take in. But there is something magical about having an ongoing conversation with a work of art. 

I’m struck by how powerful art is, and how we can all make such different meaning from it. Which brings me back to the “Killing Me Softly” experience I started this blog with. That’s a reference to a song, which for me was definitively performed by Roberta Flack in the early 70’s (although I love Lauryn Hill’s vocals on the Fugees version from the early 90’s). 

For me, that song is clearly about the thrill and the terror, the exquisite agony, of being at a live performance and feeling that something (for me usually the lyrics) is capturing my experience and feelings, but not necessarily wanting to have those feelings exposed in public. (Songs and whatnot can also kill me when no one else is around, but that feels less naked).

But as I was babbling about this recently to Chad (inspired by my recent performance of this song at a voice lesson recital) I was rather shocked to learn he did NOT share this interpretation of this song. For him, it was about the communal sharing of a song–at least I think that’s what he said. I was too surprised to really take in what he was saying. 

I’m not saying that Chad was wrong or that I’m right (at least I know I shouldn’t say that). I’m reminding myself how we often don’t see art, or the world, as others do–or even how our different selves do. 

But when we share our stories, and make meaning of stories and art and music together, we come closer to understanding that we’re not alone. 

I hope I just killed you softly (or loudly) with the profundity of my blog.

I found Hidden Falls in St. Paul today!

I think. 

I’m not sure because a) there was no signage at the Falls or pointing to the Falls and b) the Falls I saw were quite modest. Not criticizing them, but I’m not sure I would name a park after them. 

Now points a and b cited above don’t rule out the falls I saw from being Hidden Falls. I did a little Googling before I went and read that there was no signage for the falls, and given our dry conditions this summer, it’s not surprising there wasn’t much water to fall. 

So until proven wrong (and this information to support my assertion: https://streets.mn/2022/08/17/hidden-falls-hidden-no-more/), I’m going to say “Yay, I found Hidden Falls!” I’m happy that I’m making progress with #WaterfallSummer, especially as it’s almost August so I am running out of summer (although I reserve the right to extend “WaterfallSummer” and morph it into “WaterfallFall.” Ooh, that might be even better!)

I’m also feeling accomplished because I attempted to find Hidden Falls two years ago and failed! It does strike me as strange that there is absolutely no signage leading to the Falls. I guess the City of St. Paul is really leaning into the “hidden” branding. I never would have found the falls on this attempt if I hadn’t found this website: https://waterfallrecord.com/ (Yes, this woman is SERIOUS about her waterfalling. I can only dream). 

I even gave a woman I encountered on a path directions to the falls! I hope. The thought of me directing anyone anywhere is rather outrageous, but I did see her exit the path and talk to some other visitors so I’m pretty sure I didn’t lead her too astray.

This week I finished reading a book–a book that I started reading in September 2021. 

Why did it take me so long to read this book? 

One contributing factor is that I didn’t find the book, “The Big Door Prize,”* a novel by M.O. Walsh, super compelling. I enjoyed it, and was even frequently inspired and moved by the writing. At least once per chapter I encountered a sentence that made me stop and think “Chad could use this in a sermon!”

“Strings of emotional connection seemed to unfrul from inside him and roll out to attach themselves to every person in the world that Jacob could have hurt by his inaction. What a gloroius and invisible map. How had it been so diffuclt for him to see this before? All of us connected in so many silent ways. Our friends. Our framiles. Those we are soon to meet. The people we need to all again.”

an example of a beautiful quote from”The Big Door Prize” by M.O. Walsh

Despite everything the book had going for it, the parts didn’t add up to a whole that I found engrossing. I never got really invested in the characters or their lives. 

But the real reason that it took me so long to read is that it was a real paper book that I had to literally read, rather than listen to. 

Chad jokes frequently about how his librarian wife doesn’t read, and it’s true. At least, I don’t read paper, or even digital, fiction books. I read physical magazines, the occasional chapters of paper nonfiction books, and a great deal of internet content, but I only consume fiction by listening to audiobooks.

Years ago I started listening to audiobooks when I was running and I got hooked. I usually prefer audiobooks because I can do other things–running, driving, latch hook, dishes–while I listen to them. It’s typically hard for me to sit for significant stretches of time and read. I almost never try to read in bed because I immediately fall asleep. With audiobooks I don’t have to worry about having a pair of reading glasses or eye strain. 

One of the things I love most about listening to an audiobook while I am moving–running or walking–is how the story becomes physically connected to me. I can’t adequately describe this, but I develop strong connections between the story and the place where I’ve listened to it.

Listening to a book isn’t the same experience as reading a book, but I don’t think that makes one method better than the other. They both had advantages that are going to make them a better fit based on circumstances and personal preference. 

Why am I delving into this “are audiobooks as good as reading” debate? Am I just feeling defensive because as a librarian, I’m self-conscious about rarely actually reading? Or, am I trying to confound the librarian stereotype and demonstrate what a radical I am? 

Mainly, I think it’s just noteworthy that I finally finished something that took me almost two years to do. I’m a little bemused and slightly chagrined that it took me so long, but also feeling accomplished that I did finally finish (even if I didn’t remember the characters or plot as well as I could have if it hadn’t taken me almost two years to read the book). I’m reminding myself that I can read a book when I need or want to. 

And I do want to embrace my librarian identity and encourage people to delve into books however they need or want to. (I even have my hair up in a half ass bun as I write this). 

I’m also enjoying outing myself as a radical librarian who rarely reads. And guess what– I also judge books by their covers. 

*Yes, the title of the book comes from the John Prine song “In Spite of Ourselves,” which was the reason I picked the book up. Every chapter of the book comes from a John Prine song, which definitely is in the book’s favor. 

I recently got to spend some time with baby goats (not quite two months old). 

They were freakin’ adorable. 

This was Goatopia: a place, an experience, a state of mind. 

Probably nothing else needs to be said. But, since this is me, I’m going to try and make a blog post out of it, even if it’s mostly just photos. 

The goats–3 babies, 2 mamma goats and one daddy goat–belong to my brother’s family. 

The goats were playful and social, particularly baby goat Luna. They hopped and scampered and climbed on things, and it was adorable and hilarious to watch them run together in their little goat herd. 

I did get a little nervous when Daddy Goat started chewing on my dress, but I’m happy to say that no clothing was harmed at Goatopia. 

I didn’t do yoga with the goats, but swatting away all the many and varied bugs could be considered a form of exercise and a spiritual discipline.

I’m not sure if my brother came up with the term “Goatopia,” or I did, or if the goats simultaneously projected the word into our minds. But we kept saying it over and over. I’m still saying it over and over, at least in my head, as it’s just a really awesome word to say for a really awesome phenomenon.

The goats were magical to begin with, so they didn’t really need to be amplified by adding “topia” to them, but I’m going to try making other things into “topias” to see if that increases my enjoyment of them.

I’m not expecting miracles, but making things that feel blah or burdensome a little less so would be appreciated. So…

• Laundrytopia! 
• Worktopia!
• Recyclingtopia!
• DoingTheDishestopia! 

Maybe not. 

How about things I already mostly enjoy or fully enjoy, can I make them even better?…

• Runtopia!
• Saladtopia!
• StanLeetopia!
• Blogtopia!
• Churchtopia!
• Boozetopia!

Yeah, maybe for everyone’s comfort and safety, I should save my “topia” for the goats. 

I’m often content to stay close to home, without spending time in shared communal spaces. So when I do go out in the world, I should be thankful if my outing is full of unique and memorable experiences. 

In other words, I recently had a night that was rather annoying and somewhat stressful, but the upside is it gives me something to blog about.

My plan for the night was to see free, live local music (The New Standards) at Mears Park in St. Paul. 

I love seeing free music–and not just because I’m cheap and love a bargain. Free music shows feel like a gift. As someone who grew up in the middle of nowhere, I can’t get over that I have so many options to go see live music. For free. I also love having a reason to hang out in beautiful, or even so-so, summer weather. I love the ambience of outdoor shows, including when cute little kids are running around. I love the flexibility–yes, I make plans to see shows, but if things change I don’t feel too bad about wasting a ticket. I don’t have to be on time and I can leave whenever I want. 

I’m much more likely to check out musicians I’ve never heard of or who play a style I don’t usually listen to because it’s free. Although, in the case of The New Standards, I was interested in seeing them because they were The New Standards–a pretty big deal in the local music scene. 

That’s what I told my new would-be friend, and one of the annoyances, of the evening. My would-be friend–hereafter known as “WBF–was a very chatty guy who sat next me and wanted to know what I knew about the band, if I was a big fan, etc. etc. Ugh. I don’t know if he was trying to pick me up, or just trying to be social and friendly, but I just wasn’t interested in talking with him that much.

Sure, a little conversation with strangers can be a cool thing, and he was definitely harmless and not at all inappropriate, but I wasn’t in the mood to spend energy on an extended social interaction with someone I didn’t know. Finally, when he started to tell me about the music he makes (with his daughter, which does sound heartwarming) and asking me if I used Sound Cloud, I relocated. 

Okay, fine Amy, you may be saying, but was one overly talkative but harmless WBF dude who may, or may not, have been hitting on you, enough to make a whole evening “annoying”? 

No, my WBF was just seasoning in a recipe of bad weather, bad timing, and bad direction. 

I did not want to stay at the show too long because stormy weather was on its way, and I knew it would probably take me a long time to find where I had parked my car, so I wanted to leave around 8:00. 

But…The New Standards didn’t even start playing until 8. And yes, while the opening act was amazing and even featured an exceptional drummer who sang lead, and even though I just wrote about how I love discovering new-to-me acts, I really wanted to see The New Standards. 

So I stayed past 8:00, and just caught a few phenomenal The New Standards songs, and then left to find my car, and got horribly lost as the sky got darker and darker. I finally found my car, spent about 5 minutes thinking I would never figure out how to get out of the parking ramp, finally got on the road and missed my interstate exit, got on the correct exit and while driving toward some seriously scary dark clouds got stuck in traffic because of road work. 

Not surprisingly, I was very relieved when I finally made it home and celebrated with some festive beverage. 

So…was the night a bust? Am I going to renounce my love of free concerts?

No, and not just because the evening gave me something to blog about. 

As I examine my reactions and what bothered me about the evening, I realize it wasn’t really fear of being caught in a storm or stress about not finding my car or being flustered by an awkward social situation. No, what I really hate is the feeling of wasting time. I was supposed to be seeing The New Standards, and I put significant effort into seeing The New Standards, and the amount of time I actually saw The New Standards did not justify what I invested in the evening. My ROI wasn’t high enough. 

At least, that’s how I felt in the moment. But once again, I think I have the opportunity to learn a little lesson about not always trying to maximize my time. I can try to learn to accept that things, big and small, will not always go according to plan, to learn to be more open to things as they are, not as I think they should be, and to appreciate the moment that I’m actually living. 

Even though I didn’t catch that much of The New Standards show, perhaps the evening can inspire me to have some new standards for personal chillness. (I think I’m going to keep my current standard of not being too welcoming to unsolicited WBFs, though). 

Maybe I was just high on DEET, but my recent inaugural visit to Sakatah Lake Minnesota State Park was very relaxing. 

Actually, I may still be high on DEET. Even though I took a shower as soon as I got home from my Sakatah Lake trip, I could still smell the mosquito repellant I was using when I started writing this. Yes, I learned a lesson from my previous visit to Banning State Park when I was devoured by mosquitoes, and so I smothered myself in OFF (the natural non-DEET stuff just doesn’t seem to cut it in park conditions). Thankfully, I recovered from those bites more quickly than I feared I would, but I prefer smelling like mosquito repellent to being itchy and dotted with bumps. I don’t usually wear perfume anyway. 

I think the weather also contributed to my sense of calm–it was a surprisingly cool July day, and it’s much easier to feel mellow when you’re not all sweaty (and being attacked by mosquitos). Yes, I intentionally chose to take the day off and visit a park because of the cooler weather forecast, but I even got a little chilly at times when I was in the shade and the wind was blowing–almost unbelievable after experiencing 95 degree temperatures just a few days ago. Thank goodness I grabbed a long sleeve at the last minute as I was heading out the door. But I’m definitely not complaining, the weather was simply glorious. 

I loved being in a park with a lake. Not only is the lake beautiful and calming, but I didn’t have to spend as much energy on keeping track of myself and not getting lost, as I could almost always see the lake so could use that to navigate. 

Sakatah Lake park was also surprisingly uncrowded (but not in a creepy way) so the overall vibe was mellow. 

I “hiked” about 8 miles (which is about the average for me for a park excursion, yes, I may be bragging just a bit). I’m using quotes because I’m not sure what the difference is between a “hike” and a “walk.” I think hiking involves some degree of difficulty on a naturalesque terrain. Some of my ambulating was on the paved Sakatah Singing Hills State Trail, so that doesn’t seem like hiking. I also did the Wahpekute Trail which the park guide describes as a “moderately difficult hike” and promises that “Experienced hikers looking for an adventure will find lovely lake views ranging from tall overlooks to rocky lakeshores.” So I guess I can claim I did at least some hiking. 

Although Wahpekute Trail did provide lovely views and it was awesome hiking so close to the lake, I would not say anything about it was adventurous or overly demanding. My excursions to see waterfalls have definitely been more strenuous and challenging. I can’t really provide specifics about any of my hikes as my nature outings blur together–maybe another side effect of DEET.  

I even managed to do a little bit of reading an actual physical book as I sat by the lake, although I quit a little earlier than I wanted to because I was getting chilly. I did NOT finish the novel I’ve been reading sporadically since September 2021 (although I am close and will probably blog about it when I do) but was rather precious and read some poems from “The Poetry of Impermanence, Mindfulness, and Joy.” 

If only I could find a way to easily latch hook in a park, I may experience nirvana. 

*1) I didn’t realize I did two lake-related posts in a row until I went to publis this and 2) This title is fitting because I was listening to a King Arthur themed audiobook, “Morgan in My Name,” while doing most of my walking/hiking.

We’ve lived in our northeast Minneapolis house for 24 years, and I just learned a few weeks ago that the Columbia Golf Course, which is half a mile away from us, used to be a lake.

I learned about the vanished lake from friends who also live in NE when they were giving us a ride home from the airport. Although I’m usually not into history or geography, I was pretty intrigued by this revelation. 

By the time we got home and unpacked our bags, I forgot all about the mysterious departed lake. But yesterday, I unintentionally discovered the lake was named Sandy Lake and learned a little about its history.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to take a walk to the Saint Anthony Parkway bridge (also very historical–https://www2.minneapolismn.gov/government/projects/public-works/completed-projects/complete-cip/st-anthony-bridge/), which is about a mile from our house. A major construction project on the bridge was completed in 2017, and though I’ve run over this bridge countless times, yesterday was the first time I made the effort to read (or at least glance at) the markers posted on the bridge. (It’s not surprising I’ve never done this while running, there’s no way I’m going to stop at the beginning or end of a run for reading). 

I didn’t take in much about the railroad (over the last 24 years I’ve been surprised by all the people I see on the bridge just because they find the trains and rail yard interesting–not throwing any shade here, it’s just not something I find obviously noteworthy) but I DID find the name of the lake!

When I got home I Googled “Sandy Lake” and was able to learn a bit about its history and the history of my little corner of the world. I won’t try and recount that (please check out http://millcitytimes.com/news/columbia-park-129-years-of-history.html and https://racketmn.com/the-lost-lakes-of-minneapolis ) but my main takeaway was that the lake was basically naturally dried up by 1914 when the city drained it (so the city wasn’t really the bad guy here as I assumed). 

Also, now that I know that Sandy Lake used to exist, the recent “Stormwater management” project (https://www.mwmo.org/planning/northeast-stormwater-management-initiative/) at our end of the golf course makes a lot more sense. 

One of the results of this stormwater management project is an abundance of wildflowers. Just like living close to a rail yard has made me more open to the coolness of trains, my frequent exposure to these wildflowers has changed my perspective about wildflowers. Okay, up until about two months ago, I basically thought of all the new wildflowers that were growing along new pedestrian path as weeds. Weeds that were intentionally allowed to flourish, weeds that may even have some pollination values, but still weeds. 

For some reason, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take some time and walk on the pedestrian path (which I usually just run by) and look at my surroundings. Wow, the plants along the trail are really lush and varied. I’m not sure if they are technically weeds, or wildflowers, or maybe both. But I do know that taking the time to actually look at them made them a lot more interesting. 

There’s much to learn about the history of where we live: There used to be a Sandy Lake. The Saint Anthony Parkway Bridge is a big deal. But perhaps the most important takeaway for me is that history can be interesting and provide a little more depth and nuance to my experience of living in our neighborhood and help me feel even more connected to where I live. 

A little information and a shift in perspective can help me appreciate things–in this case local history, and trains, and wildflowers–in a new way. 

I felt so defeated–I just put my head down on the table.

What calamity led me to these depths of despair? Was I thinking about global warming, learning to play and sing a difficult song, or the likelihood of ever getting all my clothes put away?

No, I had just learned that the restaurant we were at was out of the portobello mushroom sandwich which I had already ordered (and paid for) and the waitress was trying to substitute it with a Beyond Burger. 

Yes, you might think I was being a little extra, but please consider the backstory: The evening before, when we arrived in Pittsburgh, we weren’t able to find any restaurant that was open after 9:30 (when we got out of the opening session of our Unitarian Universalist convention) so I went to bed a little hungry. Then, in the morning, the convention hall breakfast buffet that was promised did not materialize. So, by the time I was trying to order brunch/lunch after the first convention session of the day (around noon) I was pretty darn hungry. 

When we found a cafe nearby to the convention center that served breakfast sandwiches, I was optimistic that I would be able to get something sans meat–seems like a pretty typical offering. But no, all their breakfast sandwiches had not only egg (which I do eat) but also meat (which I don’t, besides fish, which is another topic). Okay, fine, I could pivot to lunch and get a portobello mushroom sandwich. 

So, by the time I learned I could NOT in fact get a portobello mushroom sandwich, I was beyond hangry…I was sad, and despairing, and hungry…maybe I was feeling Hunspair (Hunger + Despair)?

Would I ever be able to find a moderately filling, not excessively caloric, vegetarian meal in this town? (I was opposed to the Beyond Burger because in my estimation Beyond Burger has a low ROI–a lot of calories for an overly processed patty). 

My little meltdown, authentic as it was, was embarrassing–to me, and Chad. Being embarrassed is okay, though–a good lesson that I’m human. But I felt especially terrible when the waitress said she comped our meal (just how unhinged did I seem?) because I hoped I didn’t cause problems or distress for her–none of this was her fault. It’s okay to have emotions, and to even act melodramatically and messily, but not to inflict that on others, at least not when the “tragedy” is small and not caused by anyone’s malice. 

My “not being able to find food and oh my god I’m going to starve” meltdown wasn’t really about being hungry, or even calories (okay, definitely some of it was about calories) but about my desire to be in control, my unrealistic expectations for maximizing my vacation, and my fear of wasting time. Yes, I know I’m not really in control of most things, and I know my time isn’t really all that precious, but the thought of continuing to wander around Pittsburgh looking for food when I was supposed to be an ultra tourist discovering the delights of this new city was maddening to me. 

But I DID get some food–I was able to get an egg only breakfast sandwich after all, with a side salad, and some french fries (the calories in the fries and the sandwich croissant were totally worth it)–and mellowed out a bit. In the end, I had a pretty awesome trip: I had many notable touristry experiences, attended some of the church convention we were there for, and even found more vegetarian, not-too-calorie laden meals. (And I got a lot of potential blog content!)

And maybe I’ve learned just a little bit more about having a sense of perspective and humor when dealing with life’s little setbacks.

I’ve definitely learned to always carry some snacks if I leave the house for more than two hours.