In my office building’s elevator is a TV screen that freely advertises its purpose: to help everyone avoid awkward small talk in the elevator.

Whew.  Because that was always a big concern of mine …. (Please read with sarcasm).

However, sometimes there is really interesting information flashing across the screen (amidst Starbucks ads that make a person want to take the lift right back down to the first floor and purchase an overpriced coffee drink … which luckily I never have to do because I already have my steaming cup of chai tea clasped securely in my hand!).

One of the statistics they flashed recently was some preposterous percentage of people (87 perhaps?  I’ll check on my way down this evening) don’t have a healthy work/life balance.  They even – I kid you not! – eat lunch at their desk.

Wait a second.

The first time I saw the stat, I definitely made a face.

I, me, myself ~ this girl! ~ eats lunch at her desk.  I find it to be vastly more efficient, and it also prevents me from spending too much time chatting, and not enough time working.  Because here’s the deal ~ I prefer (and it rarely works out for me but I haven’t stopped trying) to be done with work when I leave at night.  So if that means working through lunch, so be it.  There’s not a whole lot of time (after the hour commute home) to go to the gym and get in a good work out, cook a fun meal, do chores around the house, etc before the clock is ticking 10pm, and the countdown to bed starts.

And trust me, this little lady needs her zzzz’s.  Besides, 5.45am comes pretty fast.  And it’s dark out now, which is even less inspiring when one needs to get out of bed and get organized for another jam-packed day.

Oh Mr. Elevator TV ~ why did you give me something else to worry about?

As I ate my rigatoni with lamb ragu this afternoon while doing some data entry, I wondered if the multi-tasking act was truly affecting me in a negative way.

The lunch was good.  Check.

The work was easy, and getting done.  Check.

No heart palpitations.  Good Sign.

No yearning to be sitting with my co-workers, idly chatting about things (in fact, truth be told, I was glad to miss lunch today ~ too many people jammed around the lunch area!).

So all in all, I’m doing okay.  But if you’re eating lunch at your desk and are feeling a little angry about it ~ you may be part of that terrible percentage, and some life reevaluations may need to be made.

Or, you could just be efficient.  But that’s only my opinion.  😉

As I sit in bumper to bumper traffic, slowly edging our way across the Susquehanna on 81 S on our way to what could be one of the biggest games ever, I am reminded again of the heaviness of this weekend. Please know that the significance hasn’t escaped me.

Ten years ago I had just begun my study abroad semester in Italy. Then, just as now- and probably even more-so – I was bursting with excitement for all the adventures that lay ahead.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when I emerged from the basement of our school to refill my water before my next class began. It was a beautiful sunny day, with blue skies and little dots of puffy white clouds. At the end of the driveway ramp stood my roommate, her face red from crying, tears still streaming down her face.

“We’re being bombed!” She sobbed. And I, in complete naivete, looked to the skies.

Shaking her head, she said “No! America’s being bombed!”

I was even more confused. That didn’t make any sense … And then my heart started thumping and my throat closed up and I asked her where. She said she didn’t know – she’d only just heard. Together we walked into the computer lab. A classmate was standing in the middle of the room reading a news report. Something about planes and buildings collapsing.

Something about New York City.

I think all Americans lives changed that day. Our bubble of safely was shattered in an utterly devastating way.  In Rome, on September 11, 2001, shop owners and deli workers stood outside their businesses as panicked American students navigated their way back to the residence halls.  In broken English they offered us the use of their phones, or anything they could do to help.  I sat on the floor of my apartment, dialing every number I knew over and over again, to no answer.

Where my parents flying for business today?  Were they on those planes?  Did I know anyone in the towers? Luckily for me, my nearest and dearest were safe ~ but others on my program were not as lucky.  We were unable to get news quickly ~ CNN was the only TV station in English, which was good ~ but it felt like we just watched the second tower fall over and over again.  No news of survivors, no way to get through to the USA.

It was a terrifying and frustrating day.

In the subsequent weeks, some students went home.  Our travel freedom was curtailed ~ we were asked not to journey to North Africa, and to strongly consider where we went in Eastern Europe.  We were advised not to wear anything that immediately identified us as Americans (sweatpants, tee-shirts with English slogans, sneakers, etc).

And then it faded into the background.  Rome, and the students who remained, moved forward, and while we talked about it, it felt as though the more time passed, the further away the tragedy was.

So it was jarring upon returning home in December to find that in America, 9/11 felt as though it happened yesterday.  It brought into sharp perspective the reality that my experience of the event, and the experience of the event for people who were on American soil when it happened, were very different.

I am humbled on a daily basis the selflessness of our troops, and the job they do when they board a plane and head overseas to ensure that our freedom and the safely of our country is maintained to the best of their abilities.  I am in awe of our country, so resilient in the face of such unimaginable tragedy.  I cry every time I hear a story of someone who lost a loved one in a tower, or on flight 93.

I am proud to be an American.  I am proud of my country.  I know that we will never forget 9/11, and I know that we will continue to honor all the heroes (both sung and unsung) from that day in 2001, through the present.

Every once in awhile, something really bad happens.

Not your everyday, run-of-the-mill bad ~ something shocking, that resonates to your core.  Some people manage to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and -still carrying the burned imprint of their experience on their soul- make valiant attempts to move forward every day.

Some people falter.  Their fear, damage, or trauma is too much, too heavy, to carry on their shoulders every day alone.

Some people’s characters are strengthened, life experience deepened ~ they are forever changed, and that change cannot be defined in either positive or negative terms.  It merely is what it is.

If you’ve experienced a trauma that would affect a person like this, then you know that you can never fully get perspective on how it’s changed you.

I suffered a trauma once ~ and that trauma was so entwined with so many other life altering things that were occurring at the time, I know inherently I am forever changed by it … and I am not sure to what extent.

All people have flaws ~ everyone has quirks and traits that make them inherently who they are.  Finding others to love you for the flaws and quirks and traits that make you you is, I believe, part of the fun of life.  Having the ability to share who you are as a person demonstrates, in my eyes, a person’s strength of character, and comfort in their own skin.  It’s like saying “I am who I am, and I’m good with it.  I’m working on me every day, and I’m doing it based on what I believe and value in life. Thanks for liking the person I am.”

I don’t believe in hiding parts of my life ~ or to be more correct, in concealing.  What happened to me happened ~ it can’t be changed … but I also try not to dwell on it too much.  It’s part of me, it’s part of the person I am today.  In some ways it has made me a stronger person ~ and even though I get teased about it, it also knocked me down a few pegs from my naive perch regarding humanity.

Due to the fact that I wasn’t alone in my experience, I am going to choose not to get into detail on a website that’s open for all to read.  I respect and love the other people who were there with me too much to open up their old wounds along with mine.

So last night, when I mentioned the many things bouncing around in my mind like multiple pin balls, these were some of them.  I’m struggling to come to terms with the repercussions of the trauma I suffered ~ and even as years slip by, the memories are so clear that I shock myself with my gut reactions sometimes.  I also thought about how these things, which so profoundly affected me, have also changed me. I thought about how I don’t want them to be excuses, but how I also needed to embrace who I am because of it all.

So I guess this is me, saying this is who I am.  I have flaws, and quirks that make me me.  I ‘m not the same person I was when I was 21 ~ I doubt I’ll be the same person when I’m 41.  But I’m trying to have a little faith that if I work every day at being a better person, a more patient person, a more thoughtful person, then hopefully bit by bit, I’ll be the best version of me I can be, and the scars and quirks and flaws that are associated with the trauma that occurred will fade quietly into the background.

As I sit tapping away on my computer keys, a debate is raging amongst my family regarding our best plan of attack for heading home. (Which is kind of a bummer, because it implies leaving early … and no one likes to leave vacation early.)

Irene is due to hit North Carolina and on up the East Coast, and it’s a tricky thing deciding what is the best time to pack it up and call it a day.

Luckily for Hilton Head, they aren’t due to get anything more than some rain and gusts of wind, but that doesn’t help us as we drive north on route 95, and potentially encounter rough weather in addition to all the people evacuated from the North Carolina coast.  The southern shore towns of NJ (including, I am told, Atlantic City) were issued a mandatory evacuation beginning this morning at 6am, so that’s a big indication that this storm is to be taken seriously.

In my opinion, Mother Nature should always be taken seriously.  She can be brutal when angry ~ and render untold damages.  Mostly, I’d like to get home safely, and know that all the people out there that I love are safe as well.

Of course, Irene could bounce back out to sea, and all of this drama could be for naught.  But again, it’s never a good idea to count on that when Mother Nature is involved.  She’s also quite unpredictable, and feisty.

So East Coasters, stay safe!  And Irene … don’t be mean.