I'm Happy for Indianapolis, but...

My name is Melanie, and I don’t like American football.

There I said it. Don’t judge me too harshly. I’ve never liked football really. The last football game I enjoyed had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with a cute boy off the field. I was 15. And while I am on this full disclosure kick, let me be completely honest…

• I didn’t know who Tim Tebow was until  2 weeks ago. No shame here, but I had to Google him to find out. HA!
• I didn’t know who was going to be playing in the Super Bowl until my company hung up banners for the 2 teams and with a little sleuthing I figured it out.
• I’m not going to watch any of the Super Bowl coverage. I’ll probably watch Downton Abbey instead. Yes, I prefer watching a program about an English country estate to that of viewing a bunch of men in helmets chasing each other around a field.
• I won’t be participating in any of the Super Bowl events around the city. I’m not crazy about crowds or insane traffic, and so I’ll probably stay home and read a book.

So there it is: I don’t like American football.

It doesn’t mean that I am un-American. My 17-year-old nephew already tried that line of logic with me. He suggested that my European travels have warped my ties to my native soil. HA! Silly boy! I didn’t like football long BEFORE my overseas excursions.

It doesn’t mean that I’m not supportive of Indiana. Are you kidding me? I support plenty of things in Indiana. I’m a member or a frequent visitor of many of the local museums, the zoo and cultural organizations around the city of Indianapolis. I love introducing guests to local attractions, and I spend plenty of money each year exploring my current state of residence.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t like sports period. I grew up on hockey and baseball. I played soccer, softball and rugby at summer camp. I’m not anti-sports at all. I especially love the Olympics, and this July, I’ll be watching with special interest as London plays host to the 2012 Olympics.

I just don’t like American football. It’s not my thing. It’s not something I am interested in or feel compelled to care about. I’ve explained it all before to most of you, and I don’t need to repeat myself.

You have your interests, your likes and dislikes; and I have mine. I’m happy for you, and I will support YOU as you pursue your interests and passions. And I hope you can learn to do the same for me...even though football just isn't a part of my life. 

Reflections of Europe

Reflecting back on our European adventures this past May, I find it curious how expectations can really get in the way...


Our first day in Brussels was a bit rough. I think we were all tired and a bit cranky and getting on each other’s nerves quickly. We got settled into our hotel, explored a bit of the surrounding area, and then had a welcome meeting with our tour director followed by a multiple course dinner. I was so tired I struggled to keep my eyes open during the introductions. Everyone was very kind and several people tried to pull me into conversation, but I wasn’t very engaging or much of a conversationalist at all. I tried to be as polite as I could be, but inside I felt miserable and desperately wanted to flee.


You see, it wasn’t what I had imagined it would be like. It was quite different, and my expectations were quickly dashed, and reality crept in. The bottom line was that everyone in our group was much older than I was. The majority of them had been married for longer than I had been alive. They were grandparents and many of them were great grandparents. I wasn’t sure what to think. I didn’t have anything in common with these people and wondered what I had gotten myself into! Would I have anyone to talk to?


But one good night of sleep did wonders on my psyche. I woke up determined that I was going to see and experience as much as I possibly could on this trip. I was going to enjoy every minute with my parents and my aunt. I wasn’t going to grumble or complain because things weren’t quite what I had imagined they would be. I was in Europe, for goodness sakes. This is where I had long dreamed of being, and here I was. I refocused myself, embraced the reality and felt much more invigorated and ready to have my own adventure, and boy, I sure did.


I became enchanted with Brussels and some of that old world charm thawed my disappointed heart. And I promptly found myself conversing with my fellow tour members and getting to know them despite our age differences, and surprisingly, I discovered many kindred spirits. Dick and his wife Audrey were incredibly sweet and warm. Dick and I would take turns pointing out good photo opportunities to one another and rushing around to get the perfect shot. George and Marilyn were another couple that I quickly grew fond of in Brussels. He kept me laughing and guessing at what he would say next, and Marilyn was a delight to watch as she kept her husband George in check.


And once we got on the cruise, it was quickly noted that I was “the baby” passenger on board, but I didn’t mind. I just grinned, laughed and went with it. In one sense, I think the great age difference between myself and most of the other passengers gave me a sense of freedom and relaxation. I didn’t have to be “on” all the time or act a certain part. I wasn’t out to impress. I could be as silly, frivolous and animated as I wanted to be. In fact, the more personality I exhibited, the better. It wasn’t an act or a ruse. No performance was needed. I just let my extroverted side out and no longer cared who saw me being myself.


I made friends quickly. I became known as “the girl,” and this girl didn’t know a stranger. I started conversations on my own without imagining what others were thinking of me. I sought people out. I would see 1 or more people standing off to the side on their own, and I would approach them with a friendly: “Hi there. I’m Melanie.”


I became “the photographer” – repairing or adjusting camera settings for people, jumping in and offering to take pictures, asking people to pose for my own camera, insisting on group shots, etc.


I became a motivator, encouraging people along and practicing patience. I tried to keep track of those in need of special care in our group, and I would make sure they didn't get left behind.


I got to know the staff and crew as well. I learned names, figured out who did what, asked lots of questions and joked with the serving staff. I exchanged sarcastic comments with the tour guides and learned quickly that sarcasm is not just for the British or American persona.


But who was this girl? Who was this carefree stranger? She was fearless. She was real. And I’m trying to keep track of her even now...I don't want to lose the joy and passion of just living that I experienced for those 3 full weeks. I want to discard the mask altogether and be the crazy, vibrant, energetic person GOD made me to be. I was in my element there on that boat, amongst those dear people, and it felt good.

Obsessed with Accents

Confession: I’m obsessed with accents from the United Kingdom or Ireland. It’s true. Whether it be Irish, Scottish, Welsh or English, it all sounds better to these American ears. There is something magical and lyrical in their speech that seems to be missing from every day life here in the States. I can't get enough.

I love Masterpiece Theatre’s British productions in particular. Whether it is a stirring rendition of a Jane Austen novel like Emma, an updated 21st century version of Sherlock or a murder mystery like Inspector Lewis – it’s all charming in a way. I’m hooked. I wait anxiously for the start of every new season.

A lot of British television is quite appealing to me, and I've been catching up on some series courtesy of my friends at Netflix. My current muse has been the Midsomer Murders series. In every episode a murder or two takes place in some quiet little burrow amidst the English countryside, and Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby is sent to investigate. Yes, despite the idyllic landscape of lovely gardens, 17th-century estates and luscious green hills – murders happen. The most charming shopkeeper, whimsical innkeeper or harmonious birdwatcher might be the next evil villain to strike out at a neighbor, the town gossip or the village priest. It’s mesmerizingly delightful.

So yes, I’ve known for quite some time that I was a fan. This isn’t really news to me. But until recently, I had no idea how severe my condition had become. Last night, I watched the BBC evening news on PBS and discovered that even their news sounds “better” dressed in that amazing accent. I caught myself sighing and smiling at the most droll report, and it finally hit me. I need help.

Writing My Own Story

I was having a conversation with a colleague the other day, and she commented that she considered me to be an optimistic and upbeat personality. I thanked her for her kind words, but inside other thoughts were churning. Was that really the case? Wasn’t the opposite more apparent in my life as of late? I certainly didn’t feel like I was a Pollyanna.

OK. So I do try to be positive and see the bright side of life, but lately, I’ve been struggling to do so. My silver lining was tainted. My glass was half full, but there was a serious crack along one side, and there was most definitely a leak. The show tunes normally running through my head were less amiable than usual.

I didn’t feel pessimistic. I didn’t feel depressed. I didn’t feel much of anything really. In fact, I wasn’t participating much in my own life. I was watching from the sidelines again or letting my understudy run the show. I don’t know how that happens, but sometimes, I seem to forget that my life is my own story. I’m not just reading a novel where I have no impact on the outcome. No, I’m a pivotal character here, and I need to step in and intervene, change the tone, and make some drastic revisions to my own character before I forget my course.

Now unfortunately, there isn’t time to do a complete edit and re-write the last couple of weeks. I’m left with those filler pages. I can’t erase them completely, but I also can’t wallow or beat myself up about them either. I need to jump back into my story, savor the highs and lows, seek out new characters without forcing clear definitions, actively interact and engage in the other stories around me, and allow GOD to create an even better story line than I could ever imagine.

Hmmmm? I wonder what will happen next? It's rather exciting. Too bad, I can't read ahead...

I’m One of Those People…

If you tell me something about myself, I’m gonna internalize it and think on it for hours and days. Good or bad. Right or wrong. I’m gonna ponder. I'm gonna dig deep. I’m an analytical.

If you say let’s meet at 5, I’ll be there at 4:45, and I’ll sit there patiently waiting for you. I won’t give you a hard time about being late when you show up at half past. I’ll just be glad that the tables aren’t turned. I hate being late and having people wait on me.

If you are my friend, I’m gonna want to keep your friendship. I’m a very loyal person, and I like to keep connected with my friends. If I sense some distance growing, I’ll try to “fix” it and get back in touch. I'm not clingy, but I don't like losing friendships either. 

If I say I’m gonna do something, I will. Keeping my word is very important to me. I try not to break plans or make promises I can’t keep. I want people to be able to count on me.

If I want to communicate, I’m probably gonna put it in writing. I’m a perfectionist and a lover of language. I like ruminating on every phrase and precisely saying the words in an email, a letter, etc. Face-to-face or on the phone, I tend to stumble along.

If I get quiet or retreat away on my own, I'm fine. I'm not upset, depressed or in a funk. I'm not ignoring you. I just need space. I love people, but I often need to unplug from the social scene to mentally recharge my batteries.

Yep, I’m one of those.