Thankful To Be A Minnow

Okay, if you have been reading along at home and following my trip via this blog, you've been through the meltdown with me, you've read the facts and seen the photos. Today I had time to write little more detail.

Saturday I posted my heartbreak and walked back upstairs red-eyed and worn out. David read it as I couldn't go through it all again in actual conversation. Later on that day I asked, "Did that blog make me sound crazy?" The reply: "I don't know. I live with you. I'm used to how you are." Huh. Well, it wasn't the "No honey, you're not crazy" I was hoping for, but it was the honest and matter-of-fact that I have come to appreciate from David. Fair enough. When you live with crazy, it gets harder to spot.

For as long as I can remember I've always been a little awkward. I've always been terribly shy. I've always been just slightly "off" what everyone else was thinking, doing, wearing, whatever. I never quite "fit in". And to make matters worse, the more people you add to a room, the more "slightly off" I tend to become. So you can only imagine my nerves on the flight over:

                    

Me & 112 strangers in an unknown city for three days. Oh yeah, this is going to go smooth!

I love people who are confident and secure in who they are. It's a characteristic that I desperately wish I had. It's not something you can really fake. You can fake slight confidence. You can "charge ahead" even if you are nervous. You can smile and laugh and get through it. But real, genuine, honest-to-goodness security cannot be faked. And people who have it draw me in like flies to honey (or rotting meat).

David has it and I would go to the ends of the earth with him. If he is there, I am fine. He can mingle and talk and chat and converse with ease and interest and people like him almost instantly. And I can stand beside him and know that if everyone else in the room thinks I'm strange and weird, he doesn't. And I'm okay with that, because I know that he really knows me.

But David wasn't going with me to Chicago and I was on my own. At 8:00pm I was going to find myself on the way to a sit-down dinner with 112 marketing and research leaders that I had never met. People who head up departments. People who went to graphic art school and have masters in marketing. People who have industry knowledge, who spend their days making commercials and high-level print pieces for properties that make more money in one transaction than all our agents make in a year combined. I am a Girl Friday in a tiny office in a small market. I type letters, set up coffee service for meetings and occasionally create a newspaper ad or mailer. I have a self-taught, basic-level knowledge of a few graphic programs. And the projects I work the hardest on and am proudest of, these people would give to the lowest level designers in their offices. I don't belong here. But my office is so small they don't realize that. But I do and soon everyone else in the room will think that too. I was convinced of that. I'm a small fish in an even smaller pond ... I'm a minnow.

My approach to the dinner was of the "charge ahead, smile, laugh and get through it" variety. Dress was casual, and it was in a pizza joint, so I went with dark jeans and a jacket. Casual, but nice. The bright Christmas-red top peeking through my chocolate-brown jacket added a much needed pop of color, so my almost certain pale face wouldn't look as if all the blood had drained to my shoes from nerves. I added the leopard spot shoes for height and a little flair.

This might be a good time to mention that I made a decision to wear my new black heels through the airport to "break them in". Those suckers had a mind of their own ... they were determined to break my feet in. The outside of my left foot was bloody by the time I got from the airport to the hotel from the shoe digging into my skin with each and every excruciating step. I practically hobbled to the gift shop at the hotel and paid $7 for 10 Band-aids. Then I proceeded to stick Band-aid after Band-aid covering the entire side of my foot. I slipped on a pair of brown trouser socks and then the leopard heels. My jeans were so long, you only saw the tips of my shoes. It helped the pain significally and I was able to walk without a limp. No one would be the wiser. I am strange, I thought.

I walked out to the curb and grabbed a cab. I already gave you the basics of the meeting: 

The dinner was at Lou Malnati’s, a pizzeria. I got there and the room was full. I turned right around and headed to the bathroom. I took a "time out" and psyched myself up. Thought about leaving, but I had to pass everyone on the way back to the front door so I decided to suck it up. Back in and and I found a table and took a seat. I sat by several really nice people and commenced with the small talk. "Where are you from?" "Marketing or research?" "How long have you been with Colliers? Have you ever been to Chicago before?" Next person. The questions were easy and obvious. The two hours dinner flew by. And I was back in a cab and in the hotel by 10:00pm.

Dinner was fine. I didn't make a life long friend in two hours, but I didn't completely embarrass myself either. I smiled. I softly laughed at all the right times. I tried to keep the conversation from anything too "marketing related" and focused on small talk. My heart pounded and I was sweating like Chris Farley under that lovely brown jacket, but I don't think that anyone knew but me. The hardest part was over.

And as a bonus, I got to try my first Chicago deep dish. I've have the Dallas version of course, but that's like saying you've had "New York style" bagels in Dallas. New York style is not from New York! Same with this. I've have Uno's and other deep dish pies. They are actually my favorites, but I've never had such a flaky, yummy, crunchy, buttery crust ... nothing like it. And the pizza was thick and rich and absolutely delicious.

The break-out meetings were interesting. I got the facts. I got the vision for the next year. I got the memos and the dates and all the "information" that I was suppose to get. I summed it all up in a one page email to my boss this morning. That was easy. But I guess what I really got out of the trip was a renewed sense that there is so much more that I can learn and use and create - even with my limited education. There is a world of training and software that I can get to piece-by-piece. I got a new excitement for getting up and going to the office. There are offices out there doing amazing things with simple technology like Youtube and Window Movie Maker (two things I've used for this simple blog). Even with all the templates and rules and regulations our new brand has brought, there is still room for creativity and development. We are getting a new website and the possibilities there are great. I am going to try to make this next year a fun one, a creative one, a growing one, even if I have to do much of it on my own. Being a minnow in a mud puddle means there is room to make mistakes. Room to grow. Any small thing you do seems impressive to another minnow. I am grateful to be here, away from the sharks and the whales who would keep me serving coffee. I am grateful to have the freedom to learn and grow and work. I have a job where I dabble in web design, email marketing, print work, mailers and advertising, IT and server issues, accounting and bookkeeping, event coordinating and day-to-day admin work. I had not been appreciating the variety that someone like me in a position like this has. A minnow like me in a big lake or ocean would be stuck typing letters and fetching cream and sugar, not going to a conference in Chicago. I'm not a marketing shark. I'm not a graphics professional or a skilled web designer. I'm just a minnow in a mud puddle, thank goodness!