Lindsey Burgess

Showdown: Seattle vs. SoCal

Lindsey Burgess — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 04:22:23 -0700

I just recently got my Washington drivers license. Which wouldn't have been such an accomplishment -- a milestone really -- if I had not: a) lived in Seattle for nearly six years and b) been driving around with an expired California license for well over a year. Oh and also, just generally speaking, I'm the worst driver on the planet. So passing with an 80 percent on my FIRST TRY was something to write home about. My office gave me a trophy. Seriously.

But I digress.... my new license gave me pause to think about the fact that it is very likely I will never live in California again. It helps that I got my entire family to move up here (what can I say? I can be quite persuasive!), but even more than that, for whatever reason, I really found my "home" here in Seattle. Yes, I willingly left the sunshine for this moody weather -- and I'm often asked to explain myself.

So please excuse my blubbering, I just need to brag a little bit about why I love my adopted home, Seattle, Washington. Don't get me wrong, I love Southern California, I do. It's beautiful and I know a lot of amazing people who live there; however, I'll take my fleece and drizzle and roads full of Subarus any day of the week.

First of all, let me get this out of the way: Yes SoCal, you're pretty. It's sunny. We get it. But I truly believe that the beauty of the Pacific Northwest is so much more well-rounded; rich with character and textures and changing seasons. In Seattle I appreciate it all so much more. However, this is not a debate about looks -- and that is precisely my point -- in Seattle, it is about so much more than the surface. There is a spirit of authenticity that is palable.

Make-up is optional. (Ladies? Can I hear an amen!) Flaunting one's money is frowned upon. It just comes off as tacky. People are interested in what you do (hiking, biking, sewing, writing), rather than what you do (to make money that is). Creativity and an entreprenurial spirit is in the air. It's unavoidable. People talk about things (issues, politics, social justice, rather than things (thier new flat screen, fill in the blank). In Seattle, quirky is encouraged. (Maybe that's the end of my insight right there... I'm quirky therefore I like it. Period.) Different is good. Original is better. And really everyone drives a Subaru -- Microsoft millionaire or college students alike -- it is truly a strange and hilarious phenomenon.

I suppose most of all I love Seattle because it is here that I found myself. That I was able to truly embrace and understand and explore all that I am. It was here that I learned to own the confidence I was born with. And it was here, in Seattle, where I met a fellow defected Californian whom I fell in love with and married. Life as I know it is rooted in Seattle and I guess it's true, home is where the heart is. And my heart is very much here.

Like, OMG, Graduation!??!?!

Lindsey Burgess — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:29:28 -0700

I’m a wee bit of a crier. As I write this, I can literally HEAR my family and my husband echoing, “That is the understatement of the year.”

Ok – I cry a lot. It’s just how I roll. You give me a compliment – I’ll probably tear up. You offer up constructive criticism – I will be fighting the tears. Movies, commercials, sermons – oh yeah, every time. In fact, the year I graduated from college, the administration was working on a film to use for marketing and fundraising purposes, and they asked me to be interviewed on camera. It was the YEAR I WAS GRADUATING and you are asking me to ruminate about my college experience? Um, yeah – WATERWORKS! It took like seven takes because I kept crying and no one could understand what I was saying. True story.

All that to say, this graduation season, has been as emotional as my own all those years ago. I’ve cried at every turn – commercials, displays at Target, getting announcements in the mail – in fact, I may or my not be crying right now – because my girls are graduating. No, I do not have children, but for the last five years – the bulk of my twenties – in addition to climbing the corporate ladder, figuring out how to be comfortable in my own skin, and learning how to hold my own after more than one glass of wine, I’ve volunteered with the youth group at my church. Since Lisa and Holly were in 8^th grade, hyperactive, loud and hilarious, I’ve been their leader, their friend, their confidant, and on a few occasions, their conspirator.

On the one hand, I’m so glad to be done! I mean, youth group is a huge time commitment. There were a lot of weekends where my friends were going to a hot new restaurant or meeting up for drinks while I was playing “Capture the Flag” or “Chubby Bunnies” at a lock in. There were a couple New Years Eves where I was preparing a talent show performance instead of toasting with champagne. But for everything I gave, I received exponentially more in return – I gained two little sisters. They are still hyperactive, loud and hilarious, but they have also changed so much. They have become strong, talented, confidant individuals whom I continue to learn from. I have literally watched them grow up – and I can only imagine how their parents must feel – because I am so proud of them.

So why the tears? I’m not totally sure. It’s not as if they are going far away. Even in their new dorm rooms they will only be a couple miles from my front door. And I imagine the likelihood of them coming over to karaoke in my basement is very high.

I think part of me is just honoring the unique moment of time that we’ve shared - in their lives and in my own. Things will never be quite the same, and while that isn’t a bad thing, it is still a good-bye of sorts. I think part of me is just so thankful that they got through high school avoiding the temptations – and the regrets – that so many girls succumb to.

But part of me is anxious for them. I left high school confidant, sassy and independent, and somehow in college, I lost myself trying to look a certain way. Although many years have passed, those wounds are still there and to some degree, always will be. I’ve talked to my girls about that time in my life; I’ve tried to communicate the lessons I learned. If my journey could save Lisa or Holly from even a fraction of the things I had to learn the hard way, it would all be worth it. So I suppose, some of my tears are for me – a little bit envious that I don’t get to do it all again with the wisdom and confidence that I possess today.

So yes, it will be nice to have Wednesday nights free and no chaperoning duties on New Years Eve; and yes, it will be fun for Eric and I to get involved in a ministry at church with real-live grown-ups, but it will be an adjustment. I probably won’t see them as much, but I will likely pray for them more.

I know I can’t prevent them from making mistakes. I know I can’t will them away from learning things the hard way. But I can keep calling, hanging out, being available and I can -- and will -- pray.

Friendship comes full circle + mojitos

Lindsey Burgess — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 21:32:18 -0700

Friendship is a funny thing. It seems like it should be all manicures, mojitos, laughter-till-you-pee-your-pants and middle-of-the-night-phone-calls – and if you’re lucky, it is all those things and more. Unfortunately, it’s often the “more” piece of the equation that proves a little more complicated.

The truth can be a nasty little bugger and in friendships of a certain depth, the truth cannot be ignored. However, the truth is not always easy to swallow, not even over perfectly muddled mojitos.

I recently found myself in Southern California for a business trip and had dinner with an old college roommate whom I hadn’t seen in more than five years. Over baked brie and red wine, I looked across the table at a beautiful, independent, grounded woman who, despite our distance and gaps in communication, I knew with full confidence I could still count a true friend.

For a moment, we were 18, and bonding in the communal bathroom over how we could swear our faces looked really weird in the mirror. So much of us was exactly the same and yet so much of us was wholly different – stronger, wiser, more confidant, more content with life and our place in it -- better.

It was then – in that moment in a darkened wine bar – that I knew in such a tangible way that God’s grace is true but His timing is also perfect – even if it means we have to wait for it.

I had an eating disorder in college. I hate how cliché that sounds, but it is my story, and it was very real. In addition to hurting myself, and missing out on a lot of what my college experience could have been, I hurt the people that we’re closest to me. At the time, I don’t think I really understood how much, nor do I think they realized what all I was dealing with. I was hurting in so many ways and made a lot of mistakes. And of all the regrets that plague that period of my life, and trust me there are many, it was the friendship lost between my roommate and I, that I still mourn all these years later.

So this reunion – one night, one drink (ok, two drinks) – felt like redemption. We didn’t go into the nitty gritty details of the past, we didn’t call out specific wounds or individual events – but I can’t explain it, there was understanding. Ours was a friendship that was true – the real kind where truth exists and complication is impossible to ignore. If we had just been good times and laughs, we probably could have ignored whatever was going on all those years ago.

They say the truth will set you free, and although my journey was a long one, the truth did in fact set me free. And it all started with hard conversations between my roommate on the floor of our dorm room. Now granted I wasn’t totally honest with her or myself in those first conversations, and those are the same conversations and decisions that put a huge wedge in our friendship – but it was that seedling of truth that saved my life.

So there we were talking about our husbands and our jobs and thinking about having kids. I saw in her every reason why we were ever close and then some. I saw that God had worked in both of our lives. I saw that we were both happy and healthy and living in truth. And I felt – healing.

I hadn’t been enough and then I had been too much. I couldn’t fix our friendship. I couldn’t take away the mistakes I’d made, but it turns out, I didn’t have too. When we were both ready, God’s grace was there to cover us both – past, present and future.

So tonight, I’m thankful for old friendships and new friendships. For the friends whom God uses to expose truth and for the friends whom God puts in your life just to enjoy mojitos.

Oprah is losing it (and I'm not talking pounds)!

Lindsey Burgess — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 21:10:31 -0700

I get it. She has the whole you-go-girlfriend cackle and has struggled with her weight like your best friend. She gives away cars and has a school for young girls in Africa -- I get it -- Oprah is great. Like most of America, I am not fighting it -- I've fallen under her spell; more often than not I watch her show at night and yes, I get a subscription to her magazine, ok? But more and more the hate portion of my love-hate relationship with Oprah is cropping up to the surface.

I'm telling you something is not right. Once I started down this road, I thought perhaps it is just the fact that she is as taken with herself as we are. Does she really need to put a gianormous picture of herself on the cover of her magazine EVERY SINGLE SOLITARY MONTH? Does this not bother anyone else? I mean, so wierd, right? Sure I still read the magazine - but I swear I would enjoy it alot more if she shared the covergirl wealth.

I consider myself a smart, independent woman, so on some level -- as a woman -- I have to respect what Oprah has accomplished. And frankly, her power-of-positive-thinking shitck can be quite inspiring, so what is bothering me? But then I saw this.

Even if I could get past the ridiculously melodramatic music and cliches like, "If the shutters are closed, the sunlight cannot come in" and "Life is the dancer and you are the dance" -- which I can't -- this video strikes me as wholly disturbing. This video is a commercial for Christianity without Christ.

Suddenly I'm conflicted. Yes, my humanity is drawn to the self-help propaganda that oozes out of Oprah's every being; maybe something about watching and/or reading her makes me feel powerful, in-control, capable; according to the video, this is because the "power is within me." On some level those messages resonate with me, because I believe that with Christ, all those things are true. But Oprah is not preaching power in Christ, she is preaching a generic spirituality of self, and she has the biggest congregation of all time; the whole world tunes in every afternoon to hear her gospel.

It scares me that she has so much power. It scares me that her brand of "religion" can sneak into the mainstream. It scares me that self-sufficiency is such a resounding message in our culture that it took me this long to come to this realization.

We are called to be in the world and not of it -- and isn't this what it is all about? Asking questions and thinking critically about what we see and hear all around us. Remaining in tune with what we believe and continuing to see the world around us through that lens.

I may watch Oprah from time to time and read her magazine -- and I may even learn some tips and tricks for positive thinking or boosting myself esteem -- but ultimately I know that my hope is in Christ; and thank God, because no matter how much light comes in my shutters I couldn't do it all alone and it would be so exhausting to be chasing that solitary dream.

Heartache Leave -- Food for Thought

Lindsey Burgess — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 20:57:13 -0800

I ran across this tidbit the other day and thought it supremely interesting:

Japanese marketing company Hime & Company recently announced that staff members are allowed to take "heartache leave" when faced with a break-up. Employees ages 24 and under are given one such day off per year, 25- to 29-year-olds can take two, and those older can take three days recovery time.

I feel like we are so trained to keep our heartache hidden and our emotions in-check, that this blows the lid of the model. It's not to say I've never taken a "sick" day due to heartache, but God knows I made something up so no one would know. Hello? I'm not an idiot! And so goes the thinking, right? To suffer heartache is human, but to admit to it -- to call a spade, a spade -- feels like an entirely different matter.

I guess it just makes me wonder how our interactions, relationships, and heartaches would be different if we were allowed to incorporate and communicate them (the heartaches that is) openly and honestly. I don't know the answer. I'm sure there are complications to be had, but also our vulnerability and honesty opens the door for understanding, compassion, and grace that we may have not thought possible.

Control Freaks Anonymous, here I come! (Dang it - this is so not anonymous.)

Lindsey Burgess — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 15:16:45 -0800

When I was in fifth grade Mr. Cohagen gave me a B – my first B – in math. I felt sure a B didn’t suit me. Eleven-year-old me decided I couldn’t rest until this B was out of my life. I went to Mr. Cohagen and talked myself into an A. To this day, I don’t know what made me think that I could “challenge” a grade – and I have absolutely no idea what it is I said…

All this to say, I’ve always held myself to a very high standard; with unrealistic expectations for myself, and the people in my life, I’m often left frazzled and disappointed. Today was a day where I came home from work, very late, and feeling both.

I chose an industry where things move fast and faster; an environment where if the client says jump, our only question is how we should bill it. And for the most part I’m a person who does best in over-drive – but there are days – like today, where I question why I have to be like this.

I know there are plenty of people who’ve achieved balance – but it completely eludes me. I am all-or-nothing, all the time. Up until this point, I’ve owned this trait without apology, and if I’m honest, maybe even a little arrogance.

But like so many things in my life, being married has sort of shaken things up. My all-or- nothing intensity is no longer just something that I have to deal with. My husband is an innocent bystander whom I often realize, when I take a second to look back, is being dragged along for the ride. And much to my surprise – mirrored back in his eyes – I don’t like what I see. I don’t want to be that stressed out, high-strung, over-committed cliché.

I want to be someone who can have kids (someday when the time is right – don’t get any ideas mom!) and not worry about who I am without my job. I want to be someone who is comfortable with who I am, regardless of what I do. I want to be someone who gives more to my husband and my relationships than I give to my work.

I want to be someone who lives for today – and I am so not that person. See right now, I’m stressing out about the fact that I stress out too much!

At the end of the day, I think it’s about letting go. In retrospect, talking Cohagen into an A wasn’t a triumph – it was like feeding the little control freak inside of me. I can’t control everything – and I can’t worry about how it all looks. I have to take a deep breath, lay off the Diet Coke and enjoy my life. DEEP BREATH.

Deep Breath…. OK, now what?

It’s official – I’m hopeless. Sorry Eric!

DISCLAIMER: That is just a really cute picture of my dog - no relevance whatsoever! These things just look so wordy without a picture!

Wanted: PR Director, Christianity

Lindsey Burgess — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 16:12:40 -0800

I spend my days creating strategic messaging, drafting talking points and coaching executives on how to interact with the media. Most often my clients know what they want to say, but don’t how to say it, or to whom, for that matter. Perception is everything, which is why we don’t let just anybody spout off to the media. We train and coach and practice.

And maybe it is this orientation, that makes me react so strongly when I read something like this, from Blender magazine:

“Right now I'm also reading the Bible, beginning to end. I'm very religious. That's how I've gotten to where I am.” — Heidi Montag, MTV’s The Hills

If you don’t know, The Hills is a pseudo-reality show where MTV crews follow several 20-somethings around L.A. It is the epitome of everything that is ridiculous about reality television – 22-year-old girls whose “reality” includes getting paid by MTV to wear designer clothes while partying and hooking up with Hollywood’s C-list. I won’t go into the details but Heidi is the “villain” of the series and known primarily for getting gianormous new boobs and being engaged to her fame-whoring equal.

This is the girl who is “very religious.” And apparently God himself is to thank/blame for “getting her where she is” – which is, let’s see – on the cover of US Weekly in a bikini top to squeeze her money’s worth out of those melons.

As a 20-something woman, I’m amused. Heidi and The Hills’ crew are laughable. They are idiots and therefore, hilarious to watch and mock. As a Christian, I am embarrassed, utterly embarrassed.

If only Christianity had a PR Director about now! If it were my job, I would call Heidi and her people (sadly, I’m sure she has some) and forbid her to open her mouth on the subject of Christianity ever again. I would confirm if in fact she actually has a Bible, and if so, I would beg her to hide it from the cameras. The last thing Christianity needs is more press from Heidi and the twins.

But once I started thinking about it – I was even more embarrassed. Heidi, for better or for worse, has a national audience, but would my hypocrisy really seem so different if broadcast to the masses? Maybe if I shut off the TV and quit watching trash like The Hills I’d have the time to consider it.

Oh crap, I'm evil

Lindsey Burgess — Wed, 09 Jan 2008 21:49:12 -0800

I wish I could say I was one of those people who didn't care about "stuff"; the rare breed who actually want to have someone buy a goat or a star in their name. I am not one of those people. And despite a tender streak that results in spontaneous tears - whether it be a Hallmark commercial or a compliment from my boss -- at the end of the day, I prefer stuff over sentimentality. Sad but true.

Flexing His all-knowing muscle, and no doubt showing off His sense of humor, God landed me the sweetest guy; one who wants to save ticket stubs no less. So this Christmas, I decided I had to take action. I orchestrated a trip to Barnes & Noble and while "casually" browsing, I "stumbled upon," a book I thought it would be "fun" for Eric and I to read together: The Five Love Languages. (Insert manical, evil laughter here).

As I gave a little PR-pitch for the book, Eric turned it over to read the back cover. By this point I'm already dreaming of the amazing things I will get for Christmas -- all in the name of Eric's pure, overwhelming love for me, of course. I didn't get very far before Eric's voice shook me out of my dream-like state.

"Oh wow I love this book," he says. "Listen to this part: She gives you a hug when what you really need is a home-cooked meal."

(Disclaimer: Much to the chagrin of my Martha Stewart-esque, home-maker mother, I don't cook. I kick-ass at my job, but my domestic prowess lands somewhere between organizing the take-out menus and remembering the delivery guy's first name.)

And so goes the demise of my master plan. I was so worried about Eric realizing that MY love language was presents (which sounds more trashy and shallow when you say it outloud), that it never even occurred to me that I wasn't meeting all of his needs. The poor guy just wants a home-cooked meal! I am officially the worst person ever. But this little wake-up call turned out to be just what we needed. I stopped thinking about myself so much and didn't have any expectations for Christmas (a first for me); and made a New Years Resolution to cook. It's only the 9th, and Eric has already gotten meatloaf, chicken enchiladas, and Southwest Chicken Salad -- and much to my surprise, I got Playstation 2, Karaoke PopStar Edition.

Eric is full (of my homemade food) and I am full of awe and gratitude -- for my God who knew exactly who I needed, and my husband whom I don't give nearly enough credit.