XIPE: The Corporate Gap Year and Professional Renewal

The Gift Of Self-Care - “Yo le duro lo que usted me cuide, yo le hablo como usted me trate y le creo lo que usted demuestre.”

The holiday season is, without a doubt, my favorite part of the year. It is filled with rituals and optimism that have historically helped me mentally prepare for a new year. In this case, a new decade!

I must admit this joviality has not always been innate to me. Like many other Americans, the holiday season was often a stressful time riddled with consumerism that brought more anguish to life than actual joy.

Que cosas - all the things that happen in life - like that one good day when my dad made seventeen-year-old me responsible for his Christmas shopping list. I don’t blame him for thinking it a viable option. Before online shopping, this task required lots of running around town on what seemed an impossible task of figuring out what people wanted, needed, or would at least bring on a smile to their face. The malls, traffic, and nightmarish parking happenings were the last thing my pops needed after being on the road as a truck driver. Taking this burden off my dad’s plate was the least I could do for him – even when this meant canceling my birthday celebrations that year. As a December baby, it wasn’t uncommon for my birthday to get folded-in with the holiday celebrations anyway, so no big deal.

You should have seen me, I was a natural at project management. Tepeyolotl, the heart of the mountain and Aztec god of intuition, led my path. As a Jaguar warrior, or should I say, an inexperienced project manager, I developed a well-thought-out plan. I started off by holding behind the scenes conversations with my stakeholders in where I tried my best at figuring out what their heart desired for that holiday season without revealing the masterplan. I kept a tight budget and had a handmade, color-coded spreadsheet that kept me well organized over the next two-week period. Not for nothing, but even the wrapping paper had a rhyme and reason and was somehow meaningful for each person. I was on fire: the devil is in the detail they say, and I was the woman (in the case, the girl) for the job! I was so proud of myself that Christmas morning, mission accomplished. Well, not to burst our ethereal bubble here, but I should have really said mission almost accomplished instead.

My dad began passing out the Christmas gifts, being as surprised at what was given as the actual recipient. I dazzled with my thoughtfulness and ingenuity. I wanted to high-five myself, a professional shopper had nothing on me, I tell you. Nadie, I mean, no-one could have told me how great it would feel to complete this project successfully.

All the gifts were opened when my dad looked at me, asking for the final bundle. Where was the smartly wrapped package for my sister-in-law?

Eyes wide, I thought to myself, no, no, no, I had missed a step; I had forgotten a gift, curses! The dismay in my dad’s eyes was instantaneous. He had entrusted me with such a crucial and meaningful task, and I had missed one critical detail. Las vibras of disappointment were real, yo. It was almost as if that one misstep had undone the rest of my labor. Mission was not accomplished. I had failed.

How was this even possible? I had checked, double, and triple checked my lists, like a vérité to life amateurish female Santa. I then sat on the dinner table, shoulders slumped in defeat, completely disconnected from the family activities, trying to figure out how I had overlooked that final gift. I checked my plan over and over, trying to determine the second when I had dropped my sister-in-law’s off the list. I was obsessing even, and really, not having a good time as I reviewed my work.

My mom, always insightful and observant, and the best embodiment of Tepeyolotl’s intuition, I know, approached me amid my sorrow-filled, pity party. She assured me I had done well; this had been a hefty load. It was evident I wasn’t having fun; in my fervor to meet my dad’s expectations, I stopped taking care of me. My mom helped me find peace. We would go to the store the next day and get my sister-in-law a gift; we would even get a good deal on it during the after Christmas sales, she asserted.

I learned so much from that particular holiday season. While my dad taught me the art of perfectionism, my environment was showing me the backwardness of consumerism. Still, really, my biggest take away was the simple interaction I had with my mom. She taught me the importance of being kind to myself. I had done my best, and the rest could be resolved the very next day. My sister-in-law was totally unfazed by my oversight. She was incredibly forgiving – and for that, I was also grateful.

That experience helped me solidify what the holiday season would mean to me for the years to come. For me, the holiday season (which included Erickafest: a month-long birthday celebration) would become a time for tradition, reflection, and self-care. In future years, I gracefully declined the offer of being the family shopper so that I could use my time more wisely. I began to use this time to evaluate the state of my mental health, invite self-love, and welcome dreams and visions that would lead my future. I am in the midst of this process now, and I can honestly confirm there is no greatest gift than the power of self-care.

It is in this light that I wish you the happiest of holiday seasons. May the new-age roaring 20s bring all your hopes to view, make the chase of your ambitions endless, and self-love abundant.

Stream of Thought

My spirit,

my love,

care for me,

can’t you see,

that if you take care of me,

I take care of you?

Haven’t you realized it?

If you protect me,

I will then protect you?

Hay Chiquita, my heart,

when will you understand?

I am you,

and you are me.

It is evident then,

that if it were up to me,

you would be forever happy,

optimistic and self-adoring.