Leaving work Post Partum
Originally published on 7-24-13
Before graduating high school I was an honors student, played varsity golf and was a drum major of a 300 person marching band. When I graduated at 17 years old, I ranked 5th out of 600. After high school I attended UT Business School and clipped through that in 3 years, only to graduate at 20 years old. Immediately after UT I enrolled in graduate school at the University of Houston where I worked full time and took a full course load. After two years in graduate school I graduated with a 4.0 and got hired onto my then dream job, a manager at Eddie V’s Edgewater Grille in downtown Austin. In 2006 Eddie V’s was the sexiest place in town. The restaurant was filled with money, power, fame and beauty to boot. I was having my cake and eating it too. At 25 my family hired me full time to help run their million dollar business, Holiday Wine and Liquor. I attended community events, filmed commercials, conducted wine tastings, created team culture and built our brand. After four years with Holiday, I was hired in 2011 to be General Manager of Bar Operations at ACL-Live in downtown Austin. I was back in Austin and working at the hippest place in town. Mariah Carey told me to make it happen, and I did.
Well, a month ago I let ACL and all the cache that went with it, go. I left for two reasons. The first was to create a better environment for my relationship and future family. The second was to focus on Anna and see my dreams of writing and coaching come true.
But, seven days after I left ACL, it hit like an anvil, I was making less money and I had turned in all my street cred. Money equals power, right? Or does money equal freedom? Or does working at a cool place equal power and freedom? Whatever money and job status equals, I started to feel a little less than. I felt like a financial burden to my partner and it seemed the only way to rectify this was to work really hard at making our house perfect.
On the 8th day, I woke up at 7:45 and made the bed by 8am. I had never made the bed so early. By noon, I had washed dishes, rearranged the living room furniture, took out the trash and recycling, made iced tea, and thanked my boyfriend 78 times for reasons known and unknown. I kept thinking, “Oh, what a nice man to take me in with all my student loan debt, I’d better be extra appreciative today, he is the breadwinner after all!” I was thanking him at the rate that Pippen thanked Jordan. I was thanking him like Katie Holmes and Nicole Kidman thanked Tom Cruise. I couldn’t stop thinking how disrespectful it would be to say, “You bring home the bacon and don’t forget to cook in for breakfast too!”
Maybe it was the Mexican servitude in me and maybe it was all those years of Catholic guilt indoctrination, but it was there and it was loud.
The fact that I was not contributing as much money to the family bank account grabbed a hold of me in a way I didn’t think it would. But, like the sun rises every morning, so too did God send me a teacher.
In the few weeks after my mind had been spinning, Guapo and I sat down with friends for dinner. There were three couples, and we sat divided at the table, three men and three women. Conversation got rolling and I had the patience to wait until our entrees to do what I do best, spill my beans.
I detailed my latest life developments which included: leaving ACL, making less money, feeling overloaded with domestic duties and feeling a little less than. I described to these ladies who are wonderful mothers and strong women, how I had been unsettled and how I was trying to get my sea legs for being what I have coined a ‘house person’ (since I’m not a Mom yet), someone who largely works from home and tends to house hold duties.
Elizabeth, a mom of three, looked at me and said, “Girl, when I left my job, it took me a year and a half to adjust!” She said, “Even though I knew it was the right decision for my family, I felt less than because I no longer had a job that people were in awe of.” Elizabeth continued with, “It took some real effort not to say, I’m just a stay at home mom. When the babies cried, I felt the need to jump out of bed and not inconvenience my husband who works long days.”
Vanessa, a mom of two, said, “Oh yes, I totally understand. At first you’ll feel the need to always have the dishwasher empty and have elaborate dinners cooked.” She too had a really cool job where she had more street cred than she could ask for. Vanessa also opened up and told me about the first time she went shopping after she became a stay at home mom. She said she paused out of guilt before buying a $50 bra, because maybe it wasn’t really communal money. Thankfully, Vanessa didn’t let the conversation end before telling me that there was a time she apologized to her husband for not having the dishes cleaned and he replied with, “Don’t worry about it, it’s not your job.” Surprised, Vanessa asked, “It’s not?” And she grabbed my hand and looked at me and said, “It’s not.” I felt relief sinking in.
There’s a lot to be said for women who support women. They could have easily brushed aside my comments, but they didn’t. They listened and empathized and responded. They held my hand, told me they knew exactly how I felt and sent me on my way. I am very grateful for them.
On the drive home after dinner, because I just had to have it all figured out before we were in the driveway I asked Guapo “What is my job now that I have so much free time?” He took a second and said, “Your job is to be kind and thoughtful and fulfilled, without those things our world doesn’t work.” He said, “You took a leap of faith on us, and I honor that. You giving up a job where you work nights and odd hours enhances our lives, and for that I’m grateful.” It finally started sinking in that I in fact was not a financial burden and that my increased presence in our lives was valued on time alone.
We parked the car, walked inside our home and I sat at the kitchen table while I watched Guapo buzz around the house. He fed the dogs and changed the slip covers on the sofa cushions and I told my Catholic guilt to hit the road.
The next day I reconciled that all my go getter accomplishments were still there and that “I” the person who did all those things didn’t vanish, I just decided to take another route. I made a deliberate choice to channel my energy into my home and my family and my dream of writing, and that doesn’t make me less than who I was six months ago. It in fact, gets me closer to being who I want to be.
Ladies, thank society for their idea of who you should be and if it doesn’t work for you, set it aside. Our greatest responsibility is not to make sure we fit into perfect boxes. Our greatest responsibilities as beings are to remain fulfilled and healthy and happy, so that we may make each of our corners a better place.
Some days I’ll have the bed made by 8am and some days I won’t, and it’s all okay.
Last Day
Originally published on 6-26-13
About 5 years ago I was living in McAllen and would visit Austin my home away from home and mosey downtown, particularly 2nd street and look at all the twinkly lights and busy eateries and wine bars and think, “Someday, I’m going to walk here, live here, be here, I’m not sure when or how, but I will.”
Then one day in early 2011, I got a phone call and on one end of the phone I heard, “You ready to move back?” I replied, “I’m in.” Tom my great friend and past and future boss man replied, “I can’t promise you anything, I’m not even sure I need a manager.” “I’ll make it work,” I said. “We’ll make it work,” he said, and we did.
By the first week of June 2011 I had an ACL Live all access badge, a parking pass and a spot on my favorite street in Austin. And as luck would have it, the twinkly lights were still up.
After two glorious years, June 16th was my last day at ACL Live.
For 2 years I have worked 2 full time jobs. I have been in overdrive and I have loved it. I worked as a General Manager of Bar Operations at ACL Live, fulfilled the Business Development role at Holiday Wine and Liquor, ran a marathon, did 2 Tough Mudders, jumped out of a plane, rappelled down a 32 story building, found a church home, fell in love, remembered to brush my teeth twice a day (ok, maybe not every day) and I tried my best to keep the laundry done and folded. Can I get a high five? Before you give me that high five, I can never promise anything is ironed; can I still get a high five?
I wanted to see just how much I could fit on my personal plate and the answer was, a lot. One day my friend and co-worker turned to me and said, “You’re intense.” I thought, “What, me?” I had never thought of it in that way, I always thought about it in terms of, why not?
My life was movin’ and groovin’ and then this rhyme started to creep into my head, First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Catia with a baby carriage, and I had to stop and reassess. Creating the best environment I could for my relationship and future family became my top priority and something had to give. Knowing it was the right thing for me, for our relationship and for the dream of writing Anna and reaching more people; I put in my notice at ACL Live.
During May and June I hugged the staff more, promised to keep in touch and made sure each team member knew how instrumental they had been in my life, and on my last I cried like a line cook cutting onions. To say that that last two years of my life have been the greatest life has offered me would not be an overstatement.
While eating a Schlotzky’s sandwich, drinking a cold diet coke and laughing so hard I snorted with friends I got to watch Louis CK perform 4 comedy shows standing 10 yards away, AND I got paid for it. I heard Miranda Lambert sing the song, the house that built me. I got to watch Diana Ross strut across stage and have her huge hair follow. I got to hear the Dixie Chicks belt out Wide Open Spaces while I sat on riser steps and cried my little eyes out because I thought they MUST have written that song about me. I got to hear Randy Travis sing Forever and Ever Amen while my boyfriend wrapped his arms around me. I was able to host my parents in a fancy suite when Chris Isaak was in town. Wicked games! Backstage, I spoke with Gary Clark Jr. and expressed to he and his parents that they should be proud they raised such a genuine and humble soul. And, I was blessed to work with my brother David and the experience was marvelous for reasons told and untold. Two full years at ACL Live were a gift from the universe and from the pied piper, Tom Farace.
Well Sunday the 16th was unforgettable. There were sweet gifts and hugs and well wishes and a going away bash that included cold champagne, grainy Polaroid’s now mounted on my refrigerator and safe cab rides home.
The concerts were cool, but the good stuff, the good stuff you can’t buy. For me, the magic is in bartending team I worked with. The value is in the tens of thousands of high fives exchanged, all the goofy dancing we did together, learning about each other, and all the laughter and joy exchanged (even when the jokes were so gross I’d go into convulsions). Here’s to all of my favorites there at 310 Willie Nelson Blvd. I will miss hugging you, giving you high fives, telling dirty jokes with you and asking you if you have any candy.
Folks, the universe will give you what you need when you need it; you just have to ask for it.
Claim Yours
Originally published on 2-18-13
I have grown up in a family that even though we’re well intentioned we’re not always the healthiest. We like many others have fallen into a pattern of celebrating with food and drink and as a bonus since my folks own liquor stores; there’s been plenty of drinking. Each of us had our battles with weight and some of us have been more successful than others but this weekend we handed out our first ever “Most Improved Player” award.
My 25 year old brother Carlos has always been overweight, but since he’s been overweight since I can remember, from my perspective it never felt like such an overwhelming problem. I always thought he’s young; he’ll have time to fix himself up. During high school and parts of college Carlos was active but like most of America he let his health fall by the wayside.
Well about a year ago something clicked in his head and he started to drink less, eat right and workout. Slowly we all saw his transformation first it was -10 pounds, then -20 pounds, then -50 pounds and even -80 pounds.
Last fall when he had dropped 84 pounds he and I went skydiving as a celebration of life and accomplishment. It was truly exhilarating. As an added anxiety bonus, the weight maximum for someone Carlos’ height was 231 and when the sky diving attendance asked him to step on the scale to check his weight we both started at the digital numbers in anticipation and then then verdict was 228! We’re in. Tiger Woods arm pump! We both breathed a sigh of relief and suited up for the sky dive. Then we got nervous about the dive! We were so busy worrying about his weight we had forgotten to worry about dropping from 10,000 feet in the air!
A few weeks later at negative 90 pounds my brothers and our friend and I participated in a Tough Mudder race. It’s a 12 mile obstacle course with 25 military style like obstacles. We trekked through miles of mud, survived 3 electrocution obstacles (yes actual electrocution), scaled 20 foot walls, jumped in pools of water from 30 feet high and swam through ice cold 32 degree water, we felt exhilarated! It was nuts. But, Carlos’ being in shape was crucial to the team. Two people were Life Flighted from the race that day.
Then yesterday at -105 pounds he ran the Livestrong Austin running event and completed his first half marathon! He signed up of his own volition and trained old school with an ipod and some running shoes. Yesterday Carlos finished 13.1 miles in 2 hours and 7 minutes and solidified the age old adage; you can do anything you put your mind to.
What a privilege to see him grow and learn and discover a new found sense of pride and confidence.
To anyone who is out there reading this waiting to take the first step, don’t wait another second. Go reclaim your life. Take it.
Charles the Magic Cat
Originally published on 7-26-12
Monday morning I woke up heartbroken because Sunday afternoon I found Charles lying under a car and he had passed away from a snake bite. The left side of my face was buried in my pillow and I had been awake no more than two or three minutes before tears started rolling down my cheeks and soaking my pillow. I had gone to bed crying and woke up crying. It’s like my body said, “that’s enough for today, take these 6 hours of rest and use them wisely, and we’ll pick up where we left off in the morning.”
Charles was my 3 year old cat. I claimed him, but he was really everyone’s cat. If you were open to receiving love from a 10 pound rescue cat with a teeny nub for a tail, he’d pour it on.
Charles came to my brother Carlos and me a few years ago at our home on Maple Street. He nudged his way into our home and our hearts. The Hernandez clan was a rock solid dog family; no cat had ever been able to woo us into keeping it, but Charles worked his magic. He gradually progressed from eating whatever deli meat we left out to, getting all fixed up at the vet (on our first trip to the vet I walked him in on a leash, oopsie--I had only had a dog up until then!) to getting his own Christmas stocking, and the clincher was that when Beau and I moved from McAllen to Austin—Charles made the trip with us. We were a little family.
He was from McAllen but had a South Austin personality. Charles was relaxed, friendly and loving, but never lost his edge (one time he brought me a mangled rabbit and left it on my front door as a gift.) He made friends with everyone, including dogs and squirrels and the most cynical of cat critics. Sometimes he’d even join Beau and me at the dog park. And even sometimes, as my neighbor confessed, if Charles was in a particularly charming mood, he could convince you that his diet lacked fried fish sticks. Slick.
Like a lot of our pets that come from loving homes, he lived the best of lives; some may even say he lived the perfect life. He was taken care of in every way and was also allowed all the freedom that he desired. Isn’t that a nice sentiment, to be loved how you need and to be allowed the freedom to stretch your wings? Sounds like my dream situation. Charles’ routine was to greet me when I got home, eat dinner, shuffle out the front door, explore his little area of the world, come home in time for breakfast, get a good 10 hours of sleep in his bed and start fresh.
Charles is gone now, but each time I see reminders of him, I smile and thank the universe that it loaned me Charles and his spirit for a time, however short. As an ode to my last entry, it takes time, but the joy does supersede the hurt.
My little Charles was golden. Let’s take a page from Charles and: learn to make friends wherever we go, live exactly the way we want, and never lose our edge.
Greater Mt. Zion
Originally published 7-15-12
So here’s the thing, I’ve never been a church going person, but have always been a praying person.
I’ve always hesitated to use God in everyday language in public but never hesitated to talk about God privately.
I don’t have an all-encompassing belief system, even though I was raised Catholic and can wear a rosary like nobody’s business, I won’t declare to you that I am a certain religion and embarrassingly I recently learned the difference between the old and the new testament, but I will declare that I believe in a higher power that both love and guides deliberately.
It has taken me 29 years to really seek out a church and faithful community, a community that I can lean on from each Sunday afternoon to the next.
A few months ago, as I was contemplating my love life – the only issue I allow to keep nagging at me, the other day I bought cocktail napkins that say, “My life is perfect I’m looking for a problem to drink about.” - I just felt like I didn’t have any more answers. There were no more people I could ask for advice; I had become a frequent flyer in the self-help section of Barnes and Noble and Oprah was just not coming through like she used to. I had exhausted my life lines. Then life surprised me as it does from time to time and my girlfriend casually mentioned she had found this great Baptist church on the East side of Austin and she described it as different and exhilarating and chock full of good music. I agreed to go more as a cultural experience or Sunday activity; little did I know how much of an impact it would have on me.
The next Sunday, I woke up and put on my Sunday best, a dress my mother and grandmothers would approve of, and I headed to church.
As I walked into the Greater Mt. Zion Baptist Church in East Austin, I looked around and realized, there were no: crosses, no altar, no place to kneel, no hymnals in the pews, no white people. Huh? No white people? Correct. It’s a Baptist church in east Austin and it’s glorious. Ladies wore adorned hats, there was choir that was joyful, there were dance performances, there was a band, a preacher, and more hugs than anyone could ever need.
The service was uplifting and energizing. We sang, clapped, danced and hallelujah-ed our way through a two hour service. (All this was foreign to me as Catholic’s rock it out in 45 or less and the most movement during mass is when you turn to your neighbors to shake their hands and wish them peace.) It was lovely and fun and beyond fulfilling. I cried and laughed and held hands with strangers. At times during the service I marveled in the universe’s timing. I knew I was thirsty for something more, but I didn’t know just how thirsty and I certainly didn’t know for what. When I walked out of church I felt like I had been showered in “feel good.” I felt like my life’s direction was a little clearer.
I realize this introduction to religion seems fine and dandy and I don’t know if I’ll ever be religious per se, but I think if people can gather to pray for a better world and better lives and they can lift each other up in the process, then that’s a beautiful thing.
I’ve attended regularly in the past few months and I’ve realized I was hurting and that I’ve slowly been healing. My church is a hospital for hurting people.
I hope in whatever church or group you’re a part of that you both give and receive empathy, hope and love and purpose.