The Bro Hug

It’s not unusual for something out of the ordinary to happen at work.  The subprime mortgage industry blows up.  JPM loses $2 billion on a bad bet.  The Eurozone is in a crisis.  PIMCO makes the wrong bet on Treasurys and I spend months explaining their poor performance.   Having to roll with the punches of the market is nothing new.  But what happened at a recent client meeting was definitely new.  And I’m not just talking about the committee member who referred to a choir as singing “Acapulco.”  Yesterday at a client meeting, I got bro hugged. 

People who know me know that I am not a very outwardly affectionate person.  It takes a long time for me to be comfortable hugging friends.  The rare exception being the friends who would hug a tree upon meeting it and thus don’t give me a choice.  Given the option, I’m more of a high-five person.  I have a very large personal space bubble.  It’s shrinking, but it’s definitely still bigger than the average persons.  And everyone who has met me is aware of this.

Luckily, finance is centered on the firm handshake.  That I can do.  No need to enter anyone’s bubble and only your right hand has to touch.  Brilliant.  What I failed to take into account is that many Trustees do not have finance experience.  This usually just rears its ugly head when you’re trying to explain what the hell a hedge fund is, or some other industry jargon.  Yesterday it resulted in a bro hug.  I went in for the handshake with a new Trustee and found myself bro hugged. 

Besides the obvious fact that I am not a hugger of friends, much less people I don’t know and my abnormally large personal space bubble, I discovered I don’t know what to do with a bro hug.  Girls do not bro (or possibly bra for the female tense) hug.  We shake, high five or hug.  We are all in or all out.  None of this modified hugging that implies manliness because you only have one arm wrapped around the other guy.  The purpose of the bro hug was a bit befuddling to me to being with.  Finding myself in one was completely flummoxing (I was going to with confounding here but then I used the thesaurus and flummoxing just sounds way more intense.).

It’s not all together unheard of for me to be fuddled.  The bro hug though?  I did not see that one coming.

Turkey Instead of Turkey

“Heidi, you’ve been talking about going to Turkey for like five years.  Just go already.”  And with that slightly exasperated comment from my cube mate, I hit the purchase button.  Its official, after about five years of talking about Turkey, I am finally going.  Ironically, for the American Turkey Day holiday.

I’ve always liked history.  Partly because I have a great memory and could regurgitate dates and events easily for history exams, but mostly because I like knowledge.  I like knowing how as a world and civilization we got from point A to point B.  I like knowing how people used to live.  And after visiting Italy last year I realized I really like seeing it up close in person.  It’s one thing to know that the Coliseum was built so that it could be emptied in 10-15 minutes (and amazingly, a better stadium design has yet to be created), but it’s a whole other experience to be standing in it.  So for a history buff, what better place to go than the epicenter of three of the largest/greatest empires in history?

So two days before Thanksgiving I will find myself on a plane headed for Istanbul, where I will then spend 11 days touring Turkey.  In addition to getting to cross a country off my to-do list, this will also be my first solo travel experience.  Oh, I fly all over to meet up with people in the US and Canada, but this time it’s just me.  I did however join up with a tour group to make my life easier. I’m using the same group my mom and I went to Italy with since that was such an amazing experience.  I figure if I’m going to all the trouble and expense of flying half way around the world, I may as well make it an actual vacation.  There is a lot to be said for not having to worry about how the transportation from city to city will work or trying to figure out where you’re going to sleep.

One of the few classic novels I had to read in high school was the Iliad.  I do not recall enjoying the experience.  Despite that, I am really looking forward to seeing the classical city of Troy.  Because while I might not have enjoyed the novel that made the city immortal, how brilliant was the Trojan Horse idea?

Currently my biggest worry is I can’t speak the language.  And because the language isn’t based on Latin, I don’t even have a clue as to how to pronounce the cities I will be vising (Troy aside, obviously).  I didn’t speak Japanese either when I went there, but was in a group with some people who did.  Clearly I need to start studying up on my Turkish.  And happily the Turkish Lira is worth almost half of the US dollar.  So much cheaper than the Euro, which my travel budget and frugal nature appreciates.  

Turkey for Turkey Day.  This is sure to be an unforgettable Thanksgiving.

Camping

I used to drag all of my Portland city friends camping once a year.  We’re talking camping at a state campground with flush toilets and showers, not exactly roughing it.  The first year we went, I went to go cut some kindling and one friend was appalled that I had brought an axe camping.  It was a hatchet and was perfect for both kindling and pounding my tent steaks into the ground.  The next year someone brought a stack of Dura-flame logs for the campfire.  And then couldn’t figure out how to light them after removing the wrappers off of all of the logs.  Amateurs. 

So my camping trip over Memorial Day weekend was a pleasant reprieve.  This is what happens when you go camping with the guys you grew up with and your brother – all Montanans and experienced outdoorsmen.  Or at least experienced campers.  Experienced to the point that when I realized I had forgotten a lighter, 2 lighters and a torch were tossed my direction.  And I never once got to, I mean had to, man the fire (or start it or cut kindling).

Once camp was set up, we rented a small boat and went crabbing in a bay.  And while I don’t eat things from the sea, or have any desire to toss or pull crab traps, I had a delightful time attempting to balance the boat so the guys didn’t fall overboard.  And even though I wasn’t eating them, it was really fun to catch crabs.  We even caught three big enough to keep.

It wasn’t until the next morning that we realized we weren’t quite the perfect campers.  We sat around the fire staring at the coffee pot.  Who knew how to make cowboy coffee on the fire?  My dad always did that part and had coffee ready when I climbed out of the tent.  And since our dads are the epitome of outdoorsmen, and would have laughed at us, we opted to experiment rather than call home.  Seriously, if you looked up outdoorsman in the dictionary, you would see a picture of Roland and Matt.

Sometimes it’s fun to be the experienced camper.  To have all the gear and know what you’re doing.  And sometimes it’s really nice to go camping with other experienced people, sit back and let the guys do all the hard work.

Inspiration

My life lesson of the week is that inspiration is relative.  You don’t have to be Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, Michael Jordan or Oprah to inspire people.  Sometimes just being yourself inspires people around you.  Huh.

I was out for a run last week and ran into a classmate from grad school.  After doing that weird dance of thinking you recognize someone, realizing you know who they are but do they recognize you and then acknowledging you do know each other, all while running past each other in the space of about three seconds, I found myself stopped to talk mid-run.  Usually I hope for a bridge lift during runs but this was a much more fun reason to stop for a few minutes.

After doing a brief catch up, she said that she’s starting to really get into running.  I love when people discover the amazingness that is running.  It’s such an exciting journey, especially in that time frame when it’s new and fresh and before you start to experience the annoyance of injuries.  She also mentioned that she found my running updates via Facebook (the good and the complaining) inspiring.  That made me stop mid-sentence.  I run maybe three times a week for a high mileage of twenty miles a week.  And I run slow.  Last week I was passed by a man pushing a stroller and pulling his dog.  Uphill.  I was highly confused as to what inspiration could possibly be found in there.   I found myself stunned and pleased and grateful for this new perspective.

 I have friends who run marathons and ultras.  That is who I look up to in my running life.  I have friends doing Ironman’s.  That is inspiring.  The people I see running who are clearly overweight and trying to make a change in their life?  Those are the runners who are inspiring.  An average Joe who runs to ease stress and so she’s tired enough to sleep at night?  That hardly seems inspiring.  But apparently inspiration is relative.  As I’ve had a difficult couple of running weeks, I’m trying to keep this in mind.  A crappy run is better than no run at all.  And you never know who you’re inadvertently inspiring while celebrating or whining about life to your Facebook friends.