Negative is Good, Right?

Dave let me know that our COVID tests both came back negative. I burst into tears, because this was actually the worst-case scenario for us.

Two hours after ending our quarantine due to confirmed exposure, I started showing symptoms including fever, headache, nausea, and fatigue. Those have come in consistent waves for 72 hours now, confining me once again to the four walls of a hotel room, this time with no clear end in sight. With a positive COVID test result, I would need to wait 24 hours after my last fever before ending my self-isolation.

With a negative test result, though, I simply don't know what to do. If it's COVID, then Dave is back in quarantine for exposure. If it isn't, I would really like to pop a few ibuprofen and go see my kids.

So I test again, right? Wait another 3 to 5 days for results? I can make it another 3 days. But I live in Georgia now, and from what I have read, testing here isn't pretty. And so I cried.

And then I breathed and decided the news reports about testing in Georgia were probably inflammatory. I started doing the research. 

6-10 days for results if I do a drive thru test at CVS. "In some instances, our lab partners may take even longer to return results," their website warns.

On hold with the local health department and stuck in a loop where I press 1 every so often and it always takes me back to the original menu.

Tried the recommended app. Directly immediately to a screen that reads "There are no appointments currently available. Please check back as appointment blocks may be added."

Used the official website to try to find other testing options. "Click HERE to find a testing location near you" seemed promising. Page not found.

Called the health department again, hopeful that Governor Kemp's speech from July 21st in which he indicated he had arranged a partnership for 10,000 more tests with a 48 hour turn around would mean I could get results this week. I got through and have an appointment scheduled for today. They said I will get my results in 7 to 10 days.

Negative. Yep. That pretty well sums up my attitude right now.

Free Range

On Monday in the middle of a lovely lunch in Milwaukee, we received notice that we had been exposed to COVID-19 before heading out on our honeymoon roadtrip. We ran through a slew of options and determined it was best to hole up in a hotel to wait out our 14 day quarantine. And so it was that we ended up in room 235 in a hotel near South Bend, Indiana for 5 nights.

The first order of business was getting food without breaking our quarantine. We selected lunch and dinner foods to be delivered via ClickList and decided that one run per day to the hotel lobby to grab a to-do breakfast bag was going to have to be acceptable. Armed with canned chili, baked potatoes, and ready to mix up our favorite taco-flavored chicken sandwich filling, we knew we wouldn't starve.

Next on the agenda was arranging for testing. Let me tell you what. When you hear you've been exposed to COVID, it is easy to become a hypochondriac. We took temperatures and oxygen levels frequently and kept each other appraised of every slight nausea, faint headache, and general feeling of malaise, but neither if us actually took a turn for the noticeably worse at any point. Wednesday morning, we were able to self-swab for COVID in a drive-thru test site in a Walmart parking lot. David went first, and I had to turn my head away to keep from gagging. Twirling a large q-tip in my own nose while a stranger counted down from 15 outside my window was... well, I am just glad it is over. Test results take 3-5 business days, so we are still waiting to hear whether we spent our quarantine asymptomatically sick or whether we may still be open to our own turns with COVID in the future.

So what does one do in a hotel room in Indiana for over 100 hours? Luckily, working was an option for Dave. It was quarterly maintenance at work, and we had actually blocked out a little time to pause the honeymoon for that anyway. I made myself a list of actually important, reasonably important, and enjoyable projects to work on. I was able to iron out the wrinkles and get my Georgia educator certificate, complete an important and difficult job application, research and apply for tutoring positions, design a website with our wedding memories, and choreograph four numbers from the musical Six to use as workouts. We also found a cemetery within walking distance of the hotel figuring that we couldn't really hurt anyone there with one walk each day.

Thankfully, we received two games as gifts (thank you Natalie Solomon and Eric Zierse) after we had loaded the Pod, so they ended up stuffed in my car for the journey. We played one game of Guillotine and one game of Forbidden Desert each day. Dave won Guillotine 4 times out of 5. We escaped the Desert in novice and normal, but we have not yet beaten the elite level. 

And we did the unthinkable. We watched tv. One of my favorite things about our relationship is that David and I do not watch tv. We don't have one in the living room or bedroom, and the only tv we own is used by the kids to play xbox. But we recognized the situation for what it was and decided on a 7-day free trial of HBO so I could finally force David to sit through a few episodes of The Newsroom, and he suggested that we also try Curb Your Enthusiasm. We watched one episode of each per day and appreciated the power that television seems to have over advancing the clock. We also noticed that the change in our normal routine negatively impacted our sleep, and we will be cancelling the HBO right away.

To keep some normalcy, we did two of our favorite things: ate popcorn in bed, and enjoyed Japanese comedy shows. (I know, technically tv. But somehow having to read the subtitles is so much more mentally engaging.) We watched a Wednesday Downtown episode that tested the theory that you will definitely laugh at your parent's funny faces, and a Gaki no Tsukai episode of Silent Library in which Endo and Hamada were hooked to a static electricity machine and had a shock pass between their lips. Laughter really helped us stay positive.

We did sneak out once. Having chosen to stay in Indiana specifically to check out the new Indiana Dunes National Park, we opted for a field trip on Friday. We kept completely isolated from others and were able to see a beautiful green bog, the larges of the dunes, and have a picnic on the shore of Lake Michigan. Listening to the waves crash on the beach was a balm to my sedentary mind.

Today marks the end of our fourteen days, and we have flown the coop. I can't stop talking and am jumping subject to subject despite taking my ADHD medication and an extra boost of caffeine. I couldn't figure out why my mind was racing so uncontrollably this morning, but then it hit me. I am not built for holding still. Escaping after 5 nights and 100 hours logged in room 235 has simply left me mentally exuberant. 

We are now back on the road, that strange adventure behind us (albeit still awaiting test results). We're headed to Ohio for one more national park, but we are also scheduling real estate showings tomorrow in Georgia. Life is moving forward, and with so many decisions to make, I feel alive again. I am definitely meant to roam free range.

Supplementary Angle Relationship Theorem

Okay, bear with me here. Having recently become the at-home manager of Adam's distance learning, I find myself knee deep in geometric proofs, and words I've not used in eons are swirling around in my head. 

So as I'm showering the other morning and the rhythmic sounds of water splashing against tile create a percussive stream for my thoughts, I start to reflect on a project David and I are working on right now.  We've been taking his camera on our daily afternoon walk and photographing willing neighbors on their porches.  When we get home, Dave gets to work editing the photos - making the colors pop, evening the sunlight on faces, framing them for maximum impact.  I sit nearby, mostly working on school work, but also lending the occasional, "too much," in response to his request for feedback on the brightness of this or that.  Absorbed mostly in my own work, I am also at the ready, because I happen to have one ace up my sleeve that Dave doesn't.  He's the Lightroom guru.  I do my work in Photoshop.  And when it comes to removing a house number from these photos, it turns out my skill set is in demand.  Every so often, we switch seats, and I drive.  Once the house number is removed, he takes back over. 

I'd say this project is about 150° him.  In addition to the occasional Photoshop, I am also primarily responsible for putting children at ease while David takes the photographs.  For some reason we can't quite pinpoint, kids don't warm to him quickly (it must be because he played the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang), and a frequent result of his attempts at friendliness is that the small child buries their face in a parent's shoulder and refuses to smile.  I also try to keep up with the Facebook alerts tracking who wants pictures on each street as we walk.  So yeah.  150° him.  30° me.

Enter theorem.

So there I am in the shower, thinking about how our skill sets are often adjacent.  I can pick up right where he leaves off, even though I can't do the portion he's responsible for.  Then I started thinking about the word adjacent.  Mathematically.  Adjacent angles and such.  One thought lead to another, and suddenly the word supplementary had wiggled its way into the equation.  And here you have it.

David and I are like the adjacent angles in a parallelogram, which are always supplementary.  They say opposites attract, but opposite angles in a parallelogram are actually congruent.  If we were opposites, and we were both trying to work on the same project, then I'd match his 150° with my own 150°, and we'd be 300°, which is honestly just A LOT.  Or maybe he'd only have 30° to bring to the table, to which I'd add 30°, and we'd have a scant 60° and get nowhere.  But as adjacent angles, if he brings 110°, I bring 70°, and we form one beautiful 180° straight angle. 

And the real beauty is that our roles as either the acute or obtuse angle are anything but static.  Last year, we had the privilege to work together on the Off Broadway Theatre's parody production Hamleton.  Together, we paired recordings of the songs, printed lyrics, and original Hamilton scores to write out the vocal parts of Hamleton and provide a score to the cast.  Then, as music director, I used that written score to teach rhythms and harmonies and bring the songs to life.  Converse to our current photography project, in this case, I brought somewhere around 120°.  For his part, David spent countless hours taking my chicken scratch notes and entering them in the computer.  His perfect pitch worked in conjunction with my ability to quickly jot the rhythms down.  His 60° was often thankless, but anyone involved in the project knew just how important it was.

So there it is, the supplementary angle relationship theorem wherein I over-complicate the fact that being with David is just right.

Family Rule

Impulsively, I swung the car door open and started to climb.  I wanted a better vantage point from which to photograph our project.  Admittedly, I didn't expect the door to complete its swing to fully open, leaving me a bit suspended between the main frame and door handle.  (The picture above is a recreation; I imagine the actual event included a far more surprised expression.)  Alex and Adam immediately offered unsolicited advice, but a very authoritative voice stopped them in their tracks.

"No," stated Dylan emphatically, though not without compassion. "Family rule."

I stared in surprise, though I knew exactly what he'd say next - the same words he's heard me explain to him and helpful bystanders many times. 

"Whatever she climbs up, she has to climb down on her own."  

The boys' silence was as complete as that of the empty street surrounding us. They weren't certain whether to laugh, to agree, or to come to my aid.  But Dylan wasn't done.

"Let Mom have a taste of her own medicine." The two bigger boys immediately backed down as if the king had spoken, Dylan rising as the confident new leader of the pride.

And I got down on my own.

Safety in Numbers

The first thing I started tracking was the case count.  The day that Utah was at 5 confirmed cases, I started checking the numbers.  Over the weekend, I started checking for other states I had a personal interest in.  Georgia for Kirk.  Nevada for Lisa.  Idaho for Michelle.  Ohio for Suman.  And the country as a whole for context.  By Monday, my mind was a mess of numbers.  So I started writing them down.  I started a Google Sheet to track the official counts from the official websites.  And then I ran stats.  Most commonly, the percentage of increase in the last 24 hours.

It calmed me.  Knowing exactly what to fear.

Next, I started tracking steps.  10,000 steps per day during my dismissal from school.  Something I could control.  Something I could work toward.  I watched my Fitbit carefully, even pacing the living room to watch the numbers escalate if needed.  I couldn't rest unless I'd reached the goal.

It focused me.  Knowing there are some things I could still control.

Then money.  I went back through three months of bank statements to determine an average weekly amount I spend in discretionary ways.  I added a tab in by "Coronavirus Tracker" Sheet and set a goal of how much I'd like to spend weekly to boost my local economy.  I asked David to do it, too.  And then I spent. 

It uplifted me.  Knowing I can live within my means and still be generous.

Now, it's oxygen levels.  On the recommendation of my friend Steph who is an ER nurse, I bought an oximeter.  I've put it on David's finger 5 times in the last two hours.  95.  94.  94.  96.  98.   I've also taken her advice to take the family's temperatures twice daily.  Nothing alarming yet.  But I write them down.  I aggregate.  I apply statistical formulas. 

It levels me.  Knowing if one of us gets sick, I can make data-based decisions.

In a world full of uncertainty, my mental health hinges heavily on this perceived net; safety in numbers.

Survey Says

Fun Facebook survey.

Dave about Andrea / Andrea about Dave

What’s my favorite color?

Black / Green

If you bought me one present that would make me uncontrollably excited what would it be?

A convertible / new Fleuvogs

What’s my current dream car? 

A convertible that goes fast / To have Bort back

What makes me sad? 

Seeing the kids not get things they hoped for / Dogs dying

How tall am I? 

5 ft 3 / 6 ft 1

What do I do when I’m alone? 

Read / Watch Newfies on instagram

What is/was my favorite TV/Netflix/Hulu show?

Nothing / Wednesdays Downtown 

If I became famous, what would it be for?

Nonprofit that took off / Selling TP on Facebook Marketplace

What makes you proud of me? 

How great you've become at handling money / When you protect others even when there is a personal cost

Where can I most likely be found? 

At school, except for right now / With me

What is my favorite restaurant?

MeKong Cafe / That ramen place you love

Where is one place I don’t like to be?

 Driver's seat / Behind someone driving slowly

Who’s my favorite person? 

Me / Me

Where would I go for a weekend alone with you? 

Nearby national park / Wherever the flights were cheap

You get a call that I am in trouble, who am I with? 

Skye / Jeff

If I went to jail, what would it be for? 

Trespassing / Not sure, but you'd have broken the law for the greater good

What’s my favorite gas station snack?  

Plain m&ms / Holiday popcorn

Quarantine Questionnaire

What a lovely idea my friend Sunny had to chronicle all the "fun" we're having!

Who are you with? David (41), Adam (15), Alex (13), Dylan (10), and Jake the dog.

Work situation? "Distance learning" - which means teaching via packets and email.  I get to do it from my living room, mostly, with a few check-ins in the classroom each week.

Cooking or ordering in? Cooking 20 meals a week and buying 1, very intentionally to support the local economy. The kids are sick of my doomsday meal planning which means we eat whatever is about to go bad, whether we were in the mood or not.

Watching? Next to nothing! I don't watch TV, and I am very proud the pandemic hasn't caused me to start. I did stream a local production of Newsies! and it was awesome.

Reading? I read the book Dylan was assigned for distance learning, The Twenty-One Balloons.  I really liked it!

Listening? Whatever Dave plays.  And the kids arguing in the background.

Gaming? We have a running leader board for a nightly board game going on.  So far, we've played Power Grid, Splendor, and Dominion. We've also been playing silly games for PE including Pingo Pingo and Throw, Throw Burrito (our own improvised PE edition).

House: Tidy. I have nothing else to do.  But I really appreciate that the kids have been doing their fair share with chore charts and 7-minute group cleans.

How are you feeling?  It varies. Sometimes GREAT. Like, kind of on top of the world because we are sometimes so crazy that my dopamine is off the charts.  Sometimes AWFUL.  My brain won't stop.  I can't meet the needs.  I can't solve the problems.  I can't sleep.  I don't have very much "meh."  I am "blah" until I decide to change it.  Then I am buzzed until I come down.  Then I am "blah" again.  It is honestly exhausting.

Sanity saving strategies? Popcorn dates in the basement cafe (okay, it's two recliners near an end table), walks without the kids, and writing my thoughts down

Socializing at a distance? TBH, I kind of always socialize at a distance. But turning down invites from the people I do love to see (Logan and my sisters) is just about killing me. As for the kids, the distance is killing the 15-year-old who recently became interested in girls (and one in particular).

Are you rationing toilet paper? Nope. As the only girl in the house, I feel that it is all mine.  Everyone else can deal with the repercussions.

What are you worried about running out of? Batteries. The x-box controllers need to be fed frequently, and I didn't stock up on that.  And I am terrified of a disruption in the supply chain for Alex's ADHD medication.

Learning anything new? Confidence in my ability as a more traditional mother.

How are you sleeping? Not well. I'm not worn out at night, and my brain isn't getting fed enough interesting information to quietly lull itself to sleep.  I also wake up poorly; I wrote a different blog about that aspect.

Getting ready or why bother? Every day. It is completely necessary to my mental health.  First world problem, I know, but my lack of a basic casual wardrobe has been a problem for me.  I get my energy from my outfit, but I only own my business clothes and my pajamas.  Right now, I need something cute that I can do teacher videos in but also clean the bathroom in.  I lack this attire.

Shows/vacations/plans canceled? I did not get to take Alex to Dear Evan Hansen on his 13th birthday.  I doubt I will get to take Adam to the Dodger's game I bought tickets for over Memorial Day.  And I am currently taking the first steps to cancel my honeymoon to New Zealand.  The wedding plans themselves should hopefully be minimally impacted since we were planning super small anyway.

School at home? For sure. I set up the front room as "NPA," the school Alex and Dylan attend.  I even stole the clock from my actual classroom.  We have a computer lab and all the paper and pencils we need.  Their teachers send packets of work, and Alex's junior high teachers also offer extra support online.  The dining room doubles as Cyprus High School where Adam manages his online requirements more or less independently.  He spends time on Zoom conferences and in Google classroom, so we dedicate one computer just for him.  I set school hours (9-11 am and 1-3 pm) which are to be used for educational purposes even if they run out of things sent by their teachers.  Anything not finished in those hours becomes homework.

Fitness routine or putting on the covid 19? I use my Fitbit to make sure I walk 10,000 steps every day.  This is actually DOWN from the 15,000 that is pretty typical for me on a school day.  I have had to set very strict eating parameters as being a teacher has robbed me of self control.  At school, I never have time to eat, and I only have access to what I bring.  So at home, I pack my breakfast and lunch just like I would have for school, and I eat only those things.  So far, I'm avoiding the covid-19.

Bad quarantine habits? Too much facebook.  It brings me down.  I know it does.  But I can't stop.

Best part of quarantine? All the family memories. The simplification of my schedule. The forced reset.

When this is over, I can’t wait to... be busy again.

This has made me appreciate... all the things my kids get from school besides an education. Policy makers who have the impossible task of weighing all the things. Decisive leaders who are willing to take responsibility for the consequences of their choices. My own imagination; I'd go crazy without it.

Having Our Cake

In the midst of global pandemic, it is interesting to try to zoom out and see society as a whole.  It seems the Western world, and Americans in particular, is quite accustomed to having our cake and eating it, too.  We've a system based on ingenuity and hard work in which we are taught that hard work can (and often does) equal success. 

I know my own way of life is deeply entrenched in this ideology.  I'd been having a challenging school year - one in which I'd reached many points at which I had to admit that no amount of hard work and loss of sleep would fix the problems I was facing.  This was brand new for me.  And uncomfortable.  Most days I found I couldn't even FIND the cake, let alone keep it or eat it.

It's been preparing me for this.  This world in which the leaders of governments have to choose.  We can have human life.  Or we can have a thriving economy.  I'm growing incredibly pessimistic about any carefully balanced options that allow for both.  I can write a pretty convincing essay in support of either direction (although I have to stay unhealthily detached to argue against human life).  I don't for one second envy those whose names will go down in history as having made the wrong choice.  Because there is no right choice to make here, and everyone stands to be condemned.

I keep waiting for a leader to emerge.  One that will say, "For better or worse, here's the plan."  One that will accept responsibility for its consequences.  My biggest fear right now is that with so many cooks in the kitchen, we're accidentally fumbling the cake all over the place and all we'll be left with is crumbs.

The Monster

There's a monster under my bed.  It's the source of my desire to read just one more article. To scroll through social media feeds just one more time. To keep my eyes open and prolong sleep as long as I can so I can avoid feeling its presence in the darkness. 

The monster is tomorrow. Not the whole of tomorrow. Not the specific of tomorrow. Not an event or a task or a goal looming in the vague haze of tomorrow.

The monster is the very first part of tomorrow. The moments before I open my eyes. When my brain snaps awake but my body is asleep and the bricks of the foundation of my day are laid.

These precious hours are typically my favorite of the day. In the hours between 4 and 7 a.m. whether fully sleeping or fully awake I think up my most creative solutions to the barrage of problems I've stored up for the solving. I am so fond of these hours, in fact, that I call them "The Andrea Hours."  My hours to use when the house is quiet, but my mind is vibrant, and I can accomplish anything.

And now these hours are a monster.

It started my first day home during this coronabreak.  We'd assembled work packets and distributed them to families the day before, effectively separating me from the need to prep or grade work for at least two weeks. I awoke with a start and reached for my problems. Knowing I didn't get to spend the day with my students, I couldn't find one to whittle away at. No little behavioral burble threatening to erupt. No concept to turn over in my mind until I could phrase it just right. No tricky scheme for getting my kids from point A to point C with activities outnumbering drivers. No... well. Just nothing.

So my brain invented a problem. I could feel it happen. I could sense its phoniness. And yet, there I was. Off chasing this strand of imagination to the edges of my mind and back again.  And it happened again the next morning. A completely fictional problem to solve. An argument I truly didn't plan to have being hashed out by the boardroom in my mind.

It is ridiculous. And I can't seem to control it. It is exhausting, lying there, knowing the world has 99 problems and that not one of them is mine to solve. Not even during the Andrea hours.

And so I stay up later than I have a need for. I fall asleep. And when the hum of my mental engine quickens in the morning, I whisper, "Go back to sleep. You're not needed."

The Emotional Toll

I learned through some difficult times in life that emotions should be validated rather than compared.  Having just "survived" the 5.7 magnitude earthquake that opted to visit Utah during our extended coronavirus school dismissal, it's easy to think things like "I was scared.  And the kids were scared.  But we didn't feel as many aftershocks as our friends closer to the epicenter, so I guess we must be okay."  Nope. We were scared. And that's valid. 

Emotions aren't measured in how many items fell off the walls. Emotions aren't measured in how much work one is required to do while working from home. Emotions aren't measured in which mental health struggles are heaped upon the common experience of coronavirus plus earthquake. Emotions are individual.

The sadness, grief, worry, fear, gratitude, pride, and whatever else this roller coaster has in store for me are mine.  And it is okay for me to acknowledge it. To name it. To stare at it and maybe even wallow in it for a bit before moving on. 

I have a whole pile of emotions - the muck I'm trudging through as I go about my new life as manager of a stay-at-home family. 

• Sadness - over the old buildings that were damaged during the earthquake and of all the local businesses temporarily shuttered
• Grief - over the current loss of my 5-days-a-week gig that involved educating and caring for 21 smallish humans; regret over the lack of closure as the governor announced the closure after I'd already sent the students home for the weekend
• Worry - that when I put Adam on a plane to Georgia today, the rules might change before he flies back on Wednesday
• Fear - that the world will change entirely; that schools will move online and never move back; that businesses I love won't make it through; that some people won't take the precautions seriously and all this sacrifice will be for nothing
• Gratitude - for all the little things that happened at a huge expense to others but were nice for me anyway; that I was home with my kids for the earthquake instead of at school; that Utah has decided to suspend testing this year
• Pride - in humanity; bakeries giving away bread; craft stores giving away craft supplies; the zoo doing online videos with the lions; SO MANY PEOPLE just doing what can be done to make life better for others

No, I wasn't at the epicenter.  No, I haven't lost any pay.  No, we don't stand to lose a business.  No, no one in my house is immunocompromised.  No, we don't suffer from anxiety.  No, we aren't out of toilet paper.  No, life really isn't that bad.

But we still have emotions, and they totally count. 

New Rules

It's been one week since our world changed.  At least, since the changes came rolling to our front door.  One week since Alex didn't get to see Dear Evan Hansen on his 13th birthday.  Six days since the governor of Utah announced a two-week school "dismissal," which is a whole lot like a closure but with more work.  Five days since the kids left the house to go anywhere meaningful.  Four days since the sacrament was blessed in our home, and Alex passed it in his lounge clothes while the dog tried to sniff it. Three days since I reported to an empty school and packaged two weeks of "distance learning" into a manila envelope. Two days since shamrocks in the windows of the neighbors reduced me to happy tears. One day since experiencing a 5.7 magnitude earthquake (but that's another story, nevermind...).

And here I am. Living by a whole new set of rules. I don't mean expectations. Yeah, those changed, too. But I mean the little rules I've put in place one at a time that allow me to be a successful adult despite the challenges of ADHD. The huge shift in the American way of life has knocked down every routine I had in place, especially the litany of tasks that were firmly attached to my strict, by-the-minute teacher's schedule.

Now, I just live by the rules.

• I must be showered before 8:00 a.m.
• I must wear pants.  Real pants.  Every single day for at least 8 hours.
• I must curl my hair and put on at least a little makeup.
• I must ensure each family member eats three structured meals each day.
• I must leave the house once per day.
• I must hit 10,000 steps on my Fitbit before bed.
• I must talk to someone who lives outside my home once each day.
• I must play a game with the family once each day.
• I must do something kind for someone outside my home once each day.
• I must keep the "command center" where I track all these things updated daily.

It helps. It gives structure. It saves sanity. 

As for the routines I've lost... we will rebuild.

While Curling my Hair

I let my guard down a little.

When we decided that Adam would still go to Cyprus even though we live Sugarhouse, I knew some changes would have to be made in my morning routine. I realized I could buy myself an extra five minutes of sleep if I let my hair dry naturally on the drive and then curl it in my classroom.  And so, each morning, I set my preparations aside and sit at a seat in the corner to curl my hair. 

 As a result, the strangest thing has happened. I think I accidentally made some friends.

I have two wonderful women assigned to work in my classroom, and while I curl my hair, we chat. Sometimes about work, sure. But there is something surprisingly intimate about curling one's hair that makes it feel like girlfriends at a sleepover.  And so, for the first time in my career, I have gotten to know my coworkers. I know the names of spouses and kids. I know about upcoming college finals and high school tennis matches. And in return, I open up to them.

When others walk into my room during that time to ask questions, I answer while curling. It feels scary, letting people peek behind the curtain like that. But also so refreshing. I start every single day being comfortable with the fact that I am human. That I have limits. That doing my best in a healthy and sustainable way means letting people in before I am totally polished.

And in this vulnerability, I have found the secret to human connection.