Selfish

My husband has a selfish streak.  He laces up his shoes and runs out the door. Literally.  Or he clicks the chin-strap on his bike helmet and off he pedals for a two-hour ride.  He spends every Tuesday evening playing soccer in a co-rec soccer league.  And did I mention he has season tickets to the Sounders FC, which seems to me to have a home game every week for like 40 weeks a year?

How, you may ask, do I put up with this beast of a man?

As it turns out, it's easy.

He is as generous as he is selfish.  And he encourages me to be selfish too.  He is often the one to kick my distracted butt out the door and toward the gym.  He reminds me to call my girlfriends to plan a night out.  He thinks it's important that I take time for myself.

Of course, that's selfish too.  The happier I am, the easier it is on everybody - especially him, so it's a smart move on his part to give me a little nudge toward a more balanced life.  And I usually need the nudge.

It can feel like we're being selfless by putting work and family first.  But what if we're actually worse at our jobs because we don't give ourselves a break?  What if we're actually more stressed-out parents because we don't take time for ourselves?

Others have compared it to the flight attendant speech.  You know the one where they tell you about those floppy baggies that drop down if the cabin loses pressure?

"If you are traveling with a child, please make sure to secure your own face mask before assisting others."

It's true.  We need to be ok if they're going to be ok.  We need to take care of ourselves in order to properly take care of our families.  And the same can be said of our jobs.

More and more research is coming out to support the idea that making time for ourselves makes us healthier, happier, more highly-functioning people.

• Harvard Business Review researchers tell us that exercise, sleep and vacations help us be more focused and productive.
• Several different studies have shown that spending time with friends has as much effect on our health and longevity as not smoking.  
• And in case you happen to be a rat, the researchers at Princeton University learned that exercise can help rats deal better with stress.  I'm sure those robust rodents would make very patient parents to their tiny rat brats.  ("Yes, Ratbert, sweetie.  Just let Mommy change out of these sweats and then I can help you build a fort.")

The research is in: We're actually being generous to our families - and our bosses - by taking time for ourselves.

Wouldn't your employer appreciate a more focused, productive employee?  Don't you want to give your family a more relaxed, happier parent?

So go to the gym instead of folding the laundry.  Go to bed early instead of checking your email.  Go out with a friend instead of loading the dishwasher.  Do something you want to do instead of something you should do.

Consider this your free pass to get out the door and take care of yourself.  What's good for us is good for them.  Tens of thousands of flight attendants can't be wrong.

The Power of Pomade

When I was 18 and first out on my own, shopping was an exhilarating experience, flush with possibilities. I felt that I was almost — but not quite — cool, and that all I needed to tip me over the edge to coolness was the perfect pair of shoes. And possibly the right jacket.

I was certain — in the way that only the young can be — that if I could put together the perfect outfits, all of my insecurities would — "poof!" — disappear. I’d feel how I imagined the models in Teen magazine felt: totally at ease with themselves, able to throw on any outfit — with those perfect shoes and that awesome jacket — and look and feel fabulous.

And I did feel pretty suave in the brown distressed-leather bomber jacket I bought with my student loan money. It had an aviation patch over the left chest and a satin lining printed with little fighter planes. I mean, seriously — who wouldn't look cool in that?

Did all my insecurities go away? No. But that’s probably just because I never found the right pair of shoes.

As I’ve gotten older and wiser, I aspire to get joy from life experiences instead of consumer goods. Being cool is less important than it was, and I realize that quality of life comes from a deeper place than my pocketbook.

But occasionally I am hit with the familiar feeling that a certain purchase may hold some great power to transform me.

Take, for instance, hair product.

After a haircut, I always leave feeling a little more awesome than when I came in, especially if I walk out with a new jar of pomade or bottle of spray gel.

Before I’ve actually tried the new hair product, I am filled with hope and optimism: the whole world is open to me. This new hair product may be the secret ingredient for a hipper, funkier, sassier me.

That is, of course, before the post-new-hair-product letdown. Before I realize that by the end of the day, the pomade makes my hair feel like dirty dog fur or that the spray gel creates a helmet-like crust on my hair similar to that chocolate sauce my parents would never buy me when I was a kid that hardened over ice cream like a magic shell.

After my real-life experience with that oh-so-full-of-potential hair product, of course, I’m back to being my usual not-quite-cool-but-mostly-ok-with-it self.

But then, last fall, as I was browsing my usual neighborhood discount store when I should have been working, I glanced at a display and gasped.

Those boots!

They were casual, yet a tiny bit funky. They were just the perfect mix of greyish and brownish. They were priced just low enough. I tried to remain calm as I scanned for my size. Oooh! There it was! I held my breath as I put my extremely picky feet into the boots.

They. Were. Perfect!

I snatched them and ran to the checkout counter, filled with a rush of hope. These were the ones. These would change everything.

I wore them almost every day last fall, winter and spring. I wore them to play in the park. I wore them to business meetings. I wore them out on the town. (I would wear them on a train. I would wear them in the rain. I do like them, Sam I am!)

And you know what? Yes! Those boots did what years of self-exploration could not. I became cool. It was so simple. All I needed, all this time, were those freaking boots.