My first “About Me” read more like a blog post, so I’ve retired it to its proper place in my blog history, here. So for the next iteration, I decided I’d come up with short [very short] stories about me, to give you, dear reader, a little glimpse into what makes me tick.
#1 I’m a 4th generation Californian.
My mom and I were doing research into our family tree when she shared this fun familial factoid. The pride that swelled inside her and illuminated her face as she told me this news, I felt as if she was bestowing on me a family coat of arms, the heritage of the Joseph family. It was meant to anchor me, to let me know I had a family lineage that I could return to when I was adrift in life not knowing who I was or where I stood in this crazy world. I left California at 17 to attend college in Boulder, Colorado and have not lived in the state since, but I still know where I came from: the land of oranges, otherwise known as the land of eight-lane highways, strip malls and tract housing.
#2 I have a penchant for argyle socks.
I don’t know what it about that diamond pattern, but I’m mad for it (language influenced by my recent read: “The Sun Also Rises“). In fact, aside from sport socks for running or hiking, they are the only “type” of socks I own. Brightly hued or wooly in material, I’ll don a pair for a day in the office or on the weekend when heading to yoga. If you were to ask me when it started I wouldn’t be able to tell you, but since I eschew patterns in my wardrobe (all monochromatic aside from the random striped shirt) it somehow fits.
#3 I was bitten by the travel bug early.
My first memories of travel revolved around family road trips in our Starcraft tent trailer. Every summer we’d hit the open road in the station wagon and visit my grandparents in California or Ohio, hitting national parks and KOA kampgrounds. It was the best gift my parents could have given to my brother and me. A huge swath of the contiguous 48 was observed at 60 miles-per-hour, the blurred landscape serving as the backdrop for my imagination to run wild.
#4 I have a love for foreign languages.
One of my favorite stories my dad told me was of the first time he went to Munich. He told me of the wonder that was German beer gardens. He said that sitting there in the sun, wind rustling in the trees and drinking a cold beer—it just didn’t get any better than that. And surprisingly, the German he learned in high school magically came back after a few steins of this golden brew. The look on his face is one of instant transport; just the thought of that memory is enough to send him back to that moment. But me? I was struck by the fact my father knew another language, one that could be summoned if the alcohol content was just right.
My first chance to learn a language came in 6th grade when the after-school program, Etc., offered tumbling, painting, soccer and countless other childhood delights. But me? My parents informed me that I would be taking German. At first I was devastated to take the nerdy route when my friends got to partake in the “cool” activities, but once I got into class I loved every minute of learning a new language. From then, any elective course was a language one: French/German in 7th grade, Spanish in 8th grade through high school (at my mother’s urging despite my desire to stick with French) and in college, back to French where I graduated 3 courses shy of a minor. It’s not to say it was easy every step of the way, but I discovered a natural ear that led me to fluency in college. I still remember the exact moment while watching La Cité des Enfants Perdus (City of the Lost Children) when the subtitles melted away and I was transfixed on the scene and the words coming out of the actors’ mouths. I felt I had arrived, even more so when I started dreaming en français.
#5 I’m typical type-A, organizationally minded first-born, but have an uncanny knack for losing my keys.
Some people may frown at being bestowed the type-A moniker, but I relish in mine. I clung to my Franklin Covey paper day planner from high school until the end of 2012 (as I’ve vowed to go paperless in 2013), delighted in my prioritized daily task list and the rush of adrenaline in checking off another to do. This extends into my feeling of unease when there is scrolling bar in my email inbox, or when files are carelessly saved down on my laptop without the appropriate folder to classify contents.
But my keys? They are a constant lost cause. Whether I’ve inadvertently stashed them in my coat pocket or set them down in my pile of mail that disappears in the desk pile of magazines and junk mail (the one blemish in my organizational life), it never fails that they go missing at the exact moment when I’m running late but on the cusp of being able to make up for lost time in transit. Thankfully, my current apartment comes equipped with pegs by the back door. But from time to time, I’ll breeze straight past the peg only to discover them missing the next day when I’m rushing about the house cursing my stupidity under my breath, while Lulu dances around my feet.
And with that, my tale(s) comes to a close. My hope is that I’ll add to the story from time to time whenever the creative spirit strikes (like it did when I was taking Lulu for a walk the other day and came up with #2). And if there is anything you want to know about me, feel free to leave a comment below or email me.
Oh, and I always forget: the views expressed in this blog are my own and do not represent those of my employer, past or present.