Value Selling

At a company I worked for, they put a lot of pressure on their marketing and sales team to "value sell." What this meant was they knew they were more expensive than their competitors. However, they offered more to their clients. They had customer service, a design department, a shipping department. They had something they perceived their competitors didn't, VALUE. This company thought themselves to be invaluable to the industry because they could provide a hand holding experience. From the first phone call to the very end they "had your back."

After 3 years with the company, I perceived myself to be an invaluable asset. When I started the job, I was hired as a Administrative Assistant. One employee wanted to make it very clear I was there to support HIM. I loathed him and I found out over the years pretty much everyone did. I wanted to quit because this guy was unbearable and I was supposed to "learn FileMaker Pro" with nothing but the program and a book. I gave up hope. There were 2 options looming in front of me quit and try to find another job or dig my heels in and demonstrate my value. I decided to dig my heels in and it worked. I found a need in the company - marketing.

When I started, there was no marketing - no follow through, no tracking. It was a mess and I decided to take on this mess. I distanced myself from the person who claimed I as hired for him. I began my own projects to help the company. I did learn FileMaker but through an actual class, online. I became a developer and designed a new database for the company. It saved sales hours of manual input and calculations when generating a quote. I won Employee of the Quarter for my efforts. I developed vast and intricate programs both internal and external. I tracked ALL OF THEM. I ran marketing campaigns, organized email blasts, promotions, updated our websites SEO and organic searches. I ran so much market research - from google alerts to stalking companies on my personal instagram. I researched, presented and orchestrated switching our company website and revamping it for usability and a face lift. I then HTML coded for the website. All website updates went through me. All marketing requests and new promotions went through me. All database updates and usability functions went through me. I even enjoyed reading legalese and almost re-wrote their entire Terms & Conditions on their contract as well as offered suggestions on their leasing agreement.

The owner of the company, eventually, even admitted to me - "I find when I have the resources to dedicate to marketing, it does yield great results." I felt invaluable to this company. I worked hard for this company. I felt like I was family to this company.

Demonstrating value, your worth, your abilities, capabilities and efforts to a company is sometimes just not enough. If a company is going under, it's going under with or without your talents.

On July 19th, 2016 my idea of being invaluable, was ended, abruptly. The company did a round of lay offs due to budgeting. People hired long after me were spared because they were more vital to the company's survival. The original owner of the company didn't even say goodbye to me. It stung. No, it hurt. I knew the company was in trouble. I actually almost expected lay offs, since the large company meetings had been threatening them for awhile. I thought I was safe.

Time and time again life has taught me we are never truly "safe."  Your life could be changed in a flash from any number of things - an accident, natural disaster, divorce, death, paper cut. We are never truly safe and we are never truly invaluable. It sounds like I'm being hopeless, but in truth I found some hope from this experience. We have to keep moving. We have to learn, grow and adapt. We cannot stay still. We cannot get comfortable. When things like this happen it is devastating it makes us question ourselves. It's embarrassing. I felt this same way (maybe to a higher degree) after my divorce (at 23), after I lost my mother (at 13). These events are life shattering because we grow comfortable, we grow content, we think everything will always be this way and it will always be okay. Life will always change. If there is one constant in life it is that nothing is permanent but scars and heartache. Embrace those scars, they tell a story. Love that heartache it's your patchwork quilt that you can't sleep without. There is hope after a life shattering event. There are reasons to dust yourself off. You will grow from the experience. You will adapt, change and become something new. Make it something better.

There was nothing I could have done to save my job. Not one single thing. There are things I can do now to demonstrate to the next potential employer my value. Yes, I am might be more expensive to hire than the next employee but I can offer your company so much more. I am so much more.

HER Life

It was when her perceived world shifted that she began to understand. Life was not about money or love or her dogs. Life was about breathing and putting her feet in front of her. Recognizing that they are her feet and they’re weird and unique and hers. Worlds shift and crumble and shake and fall apart. Worlds are formed and melted in a day. They’re fluid. She was fluid. She had to be willing to feel the tides, taste the wind, see the obstacles and smell the decay. Everything was temporary except for her will, which carried her out the door.

She dragged her feet. She dreaded her steps. Slow but willing her feet met the ground one step at a time. Her life was not what she wanted but it was the life she made. No one had a life exactly like hers. In many people’s eyes, she was a failure. She knew this. It was an accepted fact.  Living with the fact didn’t make it any easier but she continued down the path she made. Her low pay, working several jobs and still not making ends meet. People saw her degrees, her hard work, as trash. That’s okay. She used it as temporary fuel. Burned her papers to keep her warm for the hour, for that one job interview, for that one moment. People suggested changes, other career paths. They suggested she read books and follow what their sister’s daughter’s cousin did who now makes such a substantial amount of money more than her. She smiled, said “Thank You.” Moved on, moved away. Maybe her life isn’t measured in dollars and cents. Maybe it’s not measured in children or careers. It’s not measured in coffee spoons and sawdust restaurant with oyster shells.

Her life is measured in cooking meals, not elaborate meals, not fancy meals but meals made with her heart for people who appreciate it. Her life is measured in hikes and long walks with her dogs and kindred spirits. Measured in laughs and smiles and singing.  Measured in conversations and debates. It’s measure in kisses and hugs and feelings and ideas and expressions. Her life is her own. Her world is being torn down and rebuilt daily.  She takes the pieces of her world and tries to reconfigure them. Daily. To see if there is another way. Out.

Losing and Finding

My mother passed away July 26, 1997. She was 49.

It has been almost 15 years since my mother passed. The hole she left still gapes and bleeds. That’s a long time for anyone to go without the strong guidance and love of the woman who bore you. Over the years, I have collected woman. Strong women – physically, mentally and emotionally. I have looked to these women, not as a replacement for my mother though I often saddle them with the title of “Mom,” or “Ma.” I look to these women as my life. This is my way to show my appreciation for the women in my life who I could not bear to be without.

Throughout the years I have had many women come and go. The friends and family who have remained true in my life, who have at one point or another supported me, advised me, loved me and been on the other line of a distraught phone call; have steered me into becoming the happy, healthy, wonderful person I am today. The people I chose to surround myself with are the people that reflect not only myself but Nancy Adele Arciero, my mother. There will never be a replacement for her, ever. I remember how she was, how she'll always be. She was always smiling, she danced hula, taught aerobics, was involved in our schools, was a substitute teacher and could light up a room. For some people who knew her, she stood as their only true friend. Our house had an open door policy, as my house does now.

To name off every person and explain why I cling to these women would be misleading and dishonest to all of the accumulation of women who have guided and shaped me over the years. It’s not one, it’s ALL. There are the constant women who I interact with almost every day either through phone, email or in person. Then there are the woman who I want to interact with everyday, who I know I can call on if I need it, who offer advice when I ask, who have taken me in when I’ve fallen, who have helped me up when my life was a smear on a highway.  

If you are one of my closest confidants, if I tell you “I love you,” do not take it lightly, because I don’t. I cherish every moment bathing in the glow of a woman who is different than me, who has shown me another way, who has struggled and shared with me their past, their life and their misfortune. To the women who have listened to my stories without judgment, without reprimand, without “notes,” I thank you.

Losing a parent is never easy, for me, losing my mother was like being lost in the woods. I didn’t know which turn to take to get me home. The paths winded and curled and some were mere circles. I still don’t understand the finer points of make-up, hair, clothing, shoes and even my own feelings and self. I can tell anyone the stories of my life without shedding a tear. I am very good at detachment. Losing my mother set my life down a path I wasn’t ready for, as losing a parent does for anyone at any age. It was only because of the women I found to carry the torches at night that I was allowed to develop. They let me make a wrong turn and find comfort in their arms. They pushed and prodded and moved me in such profound ways that though I am still in the woods, I can see the forest for the trees and I have made a home in the wilderness. I have forged myself from fears and missteps; heartache and failure. Being lost in the woods is no longer a prison, it’s a choice.

My father will always be my best friend and my first love. However, being a woman is nothing like being a man. I am not a man, so I sought out those to teach me. You all have given me pieces of yourself. Little jigsaw puzzle pieces. I have used those pieces to fit and form and create a mother. A mother who is spread throughout the world, who comes from all backgrounds, all walks of life and all experiences.  Throughout the years it is my friends and family, MY WOMEN, who have given me back what I have lost almost 15 years ago. I can’t express my gratitude, but this was my attempt to do so.

Between Trails and Treadmills (Hips and Dips!)

Confused by that title? I know, but all will make sense soon. One of the nerdy things my husband has to put up with are my weird obsessions. I’ve embarked on running for the second time in my life. The first time I didn’t get very far before a roller derby injury flared up and I lost all my running abilities when I could barely walk for a month. My other obsession that I’ve rekindled is hula dancing. I danced in a traditional hula halau (troupe) for 10 years on Oahu. When I moved to North Carolina I danced with another halau for 3 years. These are two things I love and have let, for more than once in my life, consume me.

Poulsbo Beer Run

“You can’t outrun death.” These are the inspiring words my husband leaves me with as I tie my running shoes. It makes me laugh. I started running to lose weight and I’ve kept running because it makes me feel…amazing (plus I’m still losing weight). I made up my own program or routine for running. I set weekly goals that alternate between distance and time and give myself 3-4 days a week to accomplish them. For instance, when I first started my week's goal was to run a quarter of a mile. The following week was to run 5 minutes. If I didn’t reach a goal in a week I would repeat the goal. This week my goal is four miles next week my goal is 50 minutes. It’s taken me almost 3 months to get to this point of running. 

Here is what I have learned about running these 3 months:

Patience and dedication are important. If you want to run, know that it won’t happen overnight that it will take sweat and even (in my case) tears. I cry over spilt milk. I cry when my goals aren't met. It’s a slow build and you will get totally frustrated with your body some days. You will want to quit, almost every day. If you take 2 weeks off from running you will probably lose major progress. 

BREATHE. Breathing shallow quick breaths will mess you up. If you’re starting to get tired or there are pains and you want to keep going, focus on your breath. Make sure you are taking deep full breaths and if you’re really struggling do that whole in through the nose out through the mouth thing. It sounds obvious, but it’s not when you run 2.5 miles and you feel like you are going to die but you know you can go further it’s probably because you are wheezing like an old man having sex.

Shoes (Oh My God Shoes!). Good shoes are important and expensive but worth it. Whether you want to go minimalist or want arch support go to a local running store get your gait test done and get advice on what you should be running in because the last thing you want are busted ankles and shin splints.

You will have off days. You will have days where you want to run and you’re psyched to run but you can’t seem to get through it and it makes you want to punch babies…that’s normal, hey, tomorrow is another day use the pain to remind you to stretch or take a day off but just avoid babies.

Don’t run back to back to back. Let your ankles, calves and shins rest once in awhile. If you do want to run everyday built up to it real, real slow like.

People will discourage you and misguide you (not on purpose…usually). There’s a lot of misinformation about running thanks to the world wide web. If you want to run, listen to your body and drown out anything or one else. People will tell you it’s bad for your knees, to land on the balls of your feet instead of your heels, to run barefoot, to run on sand, to run 3 days in a row, to never run downhill, etc etc. Maybe they are all right, bottom line, do this for you and listen to how your body responds. If you run on your heels and the next day your ankles feel like you dragged yourself out of that prison in the Count of Monte Cristo while having a ball and chain attached to both feet, maybe don’t run like that anymore.

Given the expense of shoes, the constant vigilance and the heartbreaking defeat you might be asking “why would anyone do this?” I get it running is not everyone’s deal and some people can’t do it at all. Personally, I do it because the victories are worth the defeat. The feeling I get every week when I accomplish a goal have kept me on the path of health and happiness. Because after a long fulfilling run, I sleep like a baby and am amazingly happy for days. Also, it gets my mind to stop talking to itself. It’s very zen. I can’t think about anything but what I am doing. It’s my hour of peace.

I started running on a treadmill and I actually preferred it for the first month and a half. Yes, at the gym there are weirdos but I know my exact running time and distance. I usually watched TV and kind of zoned out and thought that was easier. As the weather started to get better in the Pacific northwest I was able to run outdoors more. I hate running on main roads. I don’t like people to see me running because I’m slow and probably pretty awkward looking. I chose to do trail runs. Single track is preferred. It was harder at first. There was no TV distraction, the trails required more effort and hills suck. Soon, however, the world started being my distraction and I found I could run further because I focuses solely on running. Now on the TV or how do I look because people can see me. Just on running.

I take my dog and my million-volt flashlight/stun gun and I brave muddy sometimes hilly uneven trails in the woods. I am crazy for it. There’s nature and fresh air (no car fumes or canned air) and I can take my dog with me and it mellows me out. I now prefer trail runs. Don’t get me wrong I still run at the gym on treadmills but for longer runs outside is the way to go otherwise you get people waiting for you to get off the treadmill just staring at your butt…awkward.

Finally, onto my second obsession: hula. Not only is hula a good workout and teaches you control while it strengthens your core, but it is beautiful. To dance is to tell a story. A story about my wonderful home.  I was born and raised in Hawaii. I am Hawaiian. I am the only one of my sisters to stick with hula and to continue to take an interest in it. I am one of 4 girls. 

I'm so precious

There is elegance, grace and symbolism in hula. Every movement is a word. Every word tells a tale. Every hip bump and dip is expressive. I adore it to the point I’ve started teaching the basics to a select few who need help. I am in no way a “Kumu” or esteemed teacher. I can choreograph songs, perhaps, but I honestly would prefer not to.  I would love to someday BE a Kumu but I would need to train under a Kumu I trust and learn a lot of songs.  I’ll get there at some point in my life, but until then I just enjoy being able to move with music again and to share in the bond of dancing in a halau. There is a sisterhood with hula it brings you close to your group and you glean off each other.

To me, hula is not just my heritage and a connection to my roots and my home. It is an art form. It is a way to tell a tale. It takes my breath away. I dance because I am enamored with it, because I enjoy it. Because my face lights up when my hips sway and my hands tell you about my aina (land).

Baby Leila in her hula outfit

Yes, my body is sore the next day from dancing and yes it makes me sweat and it challenges me but it is a fundamental part of me. It has developed into who I am and I love myself for it. YOU can hula. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. It doesn’t matter the color of your skin or your dancing experience. If you carry aloha in your heart you should be allowed to express it.

My husband has to deal with listening to the same Hawaiian song over and over again, with watching me shuffle across the floor over and over again, with random slips into pidgin and the complicated Hawaiian words I speak. He also has to deal with me leaving him on the weekends and during the weeks to run for 2 hours or with my constant discussing about my upcoming “races” or what shoes to buy or do I need a heart rate monitor or do I need some new fangled exercise gadget. He puts up with a hot mug of crazy every night as we settle into bed because while I obsess over running and hula my main obsession is him. Every night, I can’t settle into sleep unless some part of me is touching him. Even if it’s just my pinky finger grazing his arm. I have to be near him. The nights we’re away from one another my dog is a poor substitute (fur is truly not the same as skin).

I have these nerdy, consuming obsession with running and hula, two almost complete opposites - one is endurance and strenuous and one is graceful and elegant. But my true obsession lies in life. In my husband, in my dog, in my work and myself. Living life everyday is my main obsession, won’t you join me?

Dancing Ke Aloha for my Husband at our wedding!

  

What is Love?

After meeting Tim, I’ve come to analyze love. Not only because people asked me constantly about our “story” and how we “knew,” but because I like to analyze things and break it down. What I’ve come to realize is my definition of the big L word. My definition and even ways to maintain it. This isn’t my first time at the poker table, but how did I know Tim and I were each other’s “ones?” Read Below.

Definition: Love is exposing yourself to someone, with all your daily habits, eccentrics, weirdness and flaws and having one person who loves and appreciates every part of you.

A Couple of Weirdoes

I am an odd mixture of nerves, delights, craziness, happiness, optimism, fears, and clumsiness (just to name a few) all combined into a carbonated beverage and someone’s shook the bottle. I am excited over small things, dance in supermarkets, make up songs about my dog and food and am terrified of birds (just to name a few). I have several laughs, I am loud, talkative, outspoken and at times barbaric, my husband loves me for all of these reasons.

Life would be boring if it weren’t weird. My husband not only accepts all the random parts that make up a full Leila, but he appreciates it. He doesn’t love me (only) for my looks or my superficial qualities, he doesn’t love me (only) because I laugh at all his jokes and he doesn’t love me (only) because I take care of him. He loves all of me and he revels in my eccentrics and me in his. 

This also puts us totally at ease with one another, which means common bodily functions, expressive language and mannerisms are all taken and accepted.  Basically, we don’t have to pretend or hide any part of ourselves from one another.

Getting Down and Dirty

If you can’t tell your partner that they’ve got something in their teeth, scratch their back or clean up their puke after a long night of adventures, then you haven’t taken down all the relationship walls yet.

For instance, Tim had surgery not long after we started living together. It was in a sensitive spot one most people wouldn’t want anyone paying attention to nor would anyone want to actually be around that part of someone’s body for long periods of time. I didn’t think twice about cleaning the stitches, attending to the wounds and replacing bandages. Everyone told me “well, it must be love.” Well, duh. Being able to still be so enamored and happy to be with someone whom you just wiped drool or snot away from their face, says a lot.

In return, Tim has had to endure some horrific situations with me and my fickle stomach.  If you can still smile and kiss a person who just spent 4 hours in the bathroom with what sounded like explosions being the only noise making it through the door, guess what? You’re pretty comfortable with one another.  And odds are you won’t get grossed out with the daily grinds of living in the same space.

Love Obsession

I love Tim. I love him so much that every event I plan, I plan with Tim in mind. I am obsessed with Tim. I know what he likes, I know what he doesn’t like. I can read what mood he’s in and what he’ll want for dinner.  I love having pictures of Tim and I and I love to look at pictures of Tim and me.

There is this crazy need to always have Tim in the back of my mind. It’s wonderful. I’ve never been with someone I’ve wanted to spend so much time with. There is a thin line however between love obsession and actual obsession. I do not stalk Tim, read his emails, go through his phone or have to contact him constantly during the day. When I get home I require a kiss and some cuddling before bed but knowing where the guy is 24/7 is way too distracting for those of us with a life.

Having a Life

Obsession is fun but separation has it perks too. So that we don’t become bored or irritated with one another, I have always thought it was important to have separate hobbies that take you away from one another. I love Tim I want to spend time with him, but I do not want to learn Brazilian Jujitsu. Sorry, we don’t have to have everything in common. I love to run, Tim hates to sweat without a purpose.

In addition to our difference on exercise, I like to dance hula and I don’t think that is a passion for Tim.  We also like different comic books, have different passions and attend different events. Being together all the time can be exhausting. You have no fun stories to tell that don’t get cut short with “I was there.” So Tim plays poker with work people and I have game nights with my coworkers.  Having circles of friends that you can hang out with together or separately is fantastic. If Tim doesn’t want to go shoe shopping (because that’s high on a man’s priority list) then I have a back-up.

I enjoy our time apart because it makes our time together that much better.  Am I sad if he goes away on even an overnight trip? Yes. Because I’m obsessed with him.  Is it going to be the death of me? No.

Free Thinkers

Tim and I don’t see eye-to-eye on everything. I love that. We can have debates without getting hot headed, we can have different viewpoints and talk about it. We can even outright say we don’t like something the other one does and it’s okay. I hate the band Kittie, Tim does not. Tim loves the comic book DMZ, I do not.

We both like a lot of the same things – movies, some comic books, authors, video games, etc but the things we differ on aren’t a means to an end. He likes vampires, I like zombies. They are both horror film icons but we aren’t going to argue their fundamentals and why the other person should like this. I can say I think Tim would look handsome in argyle sweater vests and he can, in turn, laugh in my face. I’m not going to push the issue.  If one of us likes something we don’t force fed it to the other one.

I’m a fan of growing and changing but all in due time.

So that’s it. I love Tim and I love him because we have the above type of connection. I knew Tim was for me because from the minute we met I was obsessed and couldn’t stop thinking about him. We’ve spent our relationship exploring one another’s flaws, weaknesses, fears, oddities and have only grown into a deeper love and appreciation. If they try to change you, rip you down, control your life or are in anyway abusive, that ain’t love, get out.

My Daily Routine

People have hinted at the fact that I am a raging optimist. Despite whatever big hurdles I have overcome I remain excited and happy. It is very rare to see me down for long. It's infectious and it's also why so many of my close friends come to me when they are down. I love my friends I will do anything for the people I hold close in my life. My infectious good mood (for the most part) is because I have a daily ritual of inspirations, joys and triumphs.

There are daily heroes in this world, people who should inspire you. My father is my foremost hero. Not only because he was a firefighter for 32 years but because he's my father, he raised me after my mom died, I don't know how he endured raising four girls after losing the love of his life. My littlest sister is another hero, she lost her mom at 7 and has somehow grown into being a responsible, strong woman. Tutu, my grandmother, is an amazing woman. Surviving in Hawaii through World War II, outliving her husband, raising 5 kids, fighting to get a job and at 90 after a hip replacement surgery struggling through the pain to walk again. My mother-in-law is the newest addition to my list of heroes and inspirations. She's back in school and with an outstanding career she managed to raise two marvelous kids after Tim's father died.

These people keep me going. They are who I think of or turn to when I need to get through a tough time. The greatest inspiration and person who I turn to most is my husband. He's in the Navy and I am in awe of his strength in being able to endure in the Navy. The first 6 months of our relationship was long distance. I met him in Hawaii when I went home for a wedding, he was stationed at Pearl Harbor, we only hung out for 3 days but we had an irrefutable connection. I was living in North Carolina and he spent his tax return on a plane ticket to visit me. For 3 of those 6 months he was deployed on a submarine and I would get an email once or twice a week if I were lucky and they were short. I emailed him once a day, twice sometimes. At one point when they surfaced and were able to check their emails he had 8 emails from me where some married men had none. I feel honored to be with a man who willingly serves his country. Our relationship is not based on whether or not he stays in the Navy, but I will support him any way he chooses to live his life. I am just proud of him.

There are stigmas associated with a military wife. I know them well. Barefoot and pregnant, jobless and dependent. But that has never been comfortable or appealing to me. I was married before for 5 years to a Marine. Being a young, married military couple, we knew other military couples our age with 2 or 3 kids. I was so focused on my education, I couldn't imagine having children yet. It is one of the factors that broke us up. I want children when I am ready. When my husband and I have spent quality time together first. In all honesty, I would love to be the breadwinner and my husband the be the stay at home parent. But my career is not going to afford me such a luxury. I am a workaholic. I am a mover and a shaker. Tim and I will make our own path and we will be fine and we will love every minute of it because we’re together, we've found each other and we'll survive.

Though I complain about frustrations, my weight, my career and annoyances, I am extremely grateful for my life. I finally have a job I'm comfortable at that has afforded me some great friends. I have some amazing friends and family. My dog is my life. I have food in my belly, a roof over my head and Netflix. Most importantly, I just married a man I am madly in love with and who I can be myself around. I live in a land of forests and water, mountains and beauty. There are many small things to rejoice over if you choose to focus on them.

My life has taken many twists and turns. From almost not graduating high school to graduating Magna Cum Laude from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. From losing my mother at 13 to gaining a wonderful mother and sister at 27. From having a substance dependency to barely being able to stomach alcohol. I have been in an abusive relationship; I have had eating disorders; I have had psychological breakdowns. I have overcome them all and I hope I've turned out better. Reflecting on my past does not weaken me, but strengthens me, I know what I have endured and I know what I can endure.