Well, I feel loved. Best thing to feel at this particular time of year, and I feel it. As a good old friend of my family would say, "Shight-Howdy, it's enough to make your big toes wiggle!"
And then we'd all laugh, and she'd look at us and say, "Haven't y'all heard that expression before??" As if WE are the weirdos. This year, my immediate family (me and the 'rents) decided to do JUST STOCKINGS, and look at our traditions to figure out which ones are actually special so we can pay more attention when we do them. And it was really one of the best Christmases we've had-- even Papa thought so.
We made Welsh Pasties (HEAVEN IS WAITING IN MY FREEZER!!!), and Ottonian Sour Cream Cookies (They aren't waiting because I already ate them. All of them.), and eggs on toast. I ran into another one of those situations (I run into these a lot) where two different phrases mean the exact same thing, but I didn't know that, and worked really hard to remember the ONE phrase, so when somebody used the OTHER PHRASE, I had no fugging clue what they were talking about. And how silly is that-- because it was the phrase, "fried eggs."
I mean, I've seen it. I always figured I wouldn't like it because I didn't know what it was. Tells you a lot about my relationship to food, doesn't it. My mom didn't cook those, she made me over-hard eggs in a frying pan, and scrambled eggs. But we don't fry ANYTHING in my family, so I KNEW I'd never had "fried eggs." I was actually shocked that my mom would offer me one-- and on Christmas morning, too!! ... And then she gave me that look. That "you've been drinking out of the stupid jar again, haven't you" look. The one that says she thinks I'm intentionally tormenting her by playing dumb, and she is really not happy with me about it.
I guess the good news is she thinks I'm smart enough to know that "fried eggs" are the eggs you cook in a frying pan-- you know, like over-hard eggs, for example. The bad news is, I really didn't know. You have to understand. When I was little, we didn't eat like everybody else, and mom cooked just about everything from scratch. I thought everybody had vegetarian tomato pasta sauce with beans in it. So she knew what I liked, and I knew what she cooked, and if she asked if I wanted eggs, I knew they'd be scrambled. Or she'd let me cut off the whites and just eat those, since I didn't like the yolks. Even when they weren't the consistency of weird yellow-orange mucus.
So then we'd go to a restaurant, and mom would have to translate everything on the menu for me. What sort of eggs are "over easy" eggs? Do I like those? What is French Toast? You mean it's that weird dry bread you coat with egg and then put syrup on? Eww! (FYI, my food repertoire of "likes" has grossly expanded since the time of which I write. I like food now.)
When, as a child, I got tired of trying to figure out egg-cooking-styles and trying to explain to the waitress what I wanted, I finally memorized two easy kinds of egg-cooking-styles that I KNEW I LIKED, and I KNEW THEY COULD COOK. And always since then, if we eat breakfast out, I ask for one of those. Eggs over-hard, or hard-scrambled. Because I'd learned that this is the most easily-understood restaurant term for the kind of eggs my mom cooked for me at home. And that is literally the extent of my egg-preparation-term repertoire. Oh, plus hardboiled. I know those from Easter. Then mom tells me --right there on Christmas morning-- that she's making "boiled eggs" for her and papa.
WTF?! Does she mean HARD boiled?? Is there any OTHER kind of boiled egg? I mean-- parents always yell at their kids for eating cookie dough with UNCOOKED EGGS in it, so... Is this another trick like the "fried eggs" situation?? sigh... I guess I must have ROLLED in stupid-juice without even noticing last night, because apparently I reek of it. Just look at her scrunched up face when I ask for clarification on THAT one!!
See, fancy literature and books about dragons rarely describe cooked eggs in both visual and restaurantees terms enough to picture what is what-- so eggs are not among the information and vocabulary and phrases that I gleaned from said "literature." I may have told my dad as a pre-pubescent teen that "my cup runeth over" when he gave me too much milk once-- and known both the literal and the poetic meanings of the phrase used... but what has THAT got to do with the price of EGGS?!
Ahem-- so anyway, I felt loved this holiday season. And I was able to hi-jack my friend's car with the walnut-studded tires and the cold weather engine starter and the eco-diesel green gas juice and all, and drive IT through the frozen and bumpy wasteland of insane Christmas-Eve highway drivers to my parents' house so I COULD bake cookies and pasties and eggs with them. It was wonderful.
I also got phone calls from several friends to make sure I arrived there safely, or was doing okay with all the insane snow we received. Can you believe we had a WHITE CHRISTMAS on the west coast? When has THAT happened before?! Even weirder than fried eggs, I tell you! And I'm about to head over to check my mail. There may be Christmas Cards I don't know about. It's been almost two weeks since I could get close enough to the post office to park my car and go in.
And then on Sunday, my extended West Coast Family all mustered together and celebrated, and shared "extended family love" with the little kids. It was the start of another great Christmas tradition that we all want to remember for next year, too. Not quite as grand as the ones we used to have back east (50 people, lots of excellent insanity), but still... And that reminds me-- I've got cheese in my backpack, and it really ought to be put in the fridge here soon.
Merry Everything, and many happy returns of it all to you and yours.
Or, as my family probably will say after they read about the eggs,
"Here's egg in your face!" Which I know is a quote, but have NO idea where it came from. And I'm actually okay with that. Really.
Tuesday, December 30
Monday, December 15
The French Translation
Things that mean something, a biographical list of one-liners from breakfast with Big D:
- It'd be nice to date someone intelligent AND funny, you know?
- So, how long have you been a looser?
- Um, no. Actually, I didn't learn that from my grandmother. It's all me.
- Well, I'm just known as "That guy who eats salad for lunch," so they don't think I'm a homo at work-- but there's this other guy who started trying to eat healthy lunches after he'd been there for a while, and it was like, "Man let me show you some tits so you can get over this and eat man-food again."
- Actually, nobody takes you seriously because we know you really DO mean the outrageous things you say.
- God, this sounds retarded; I met her on Facebook.
- Liquid chalk? Actually, I think pole dancers WANT to be able to slide around some...
- He's an ambulance driver with a Master's Degree in Art Criticism. And he eats salads for lunch, too. I just feel compelled to call him my partner-- but only at work!
- Well, actually, I AM a librarian. Explains the ice cube in my hot coco, doesn't it?
- Boy, watching you eat takes me right back to when we were kids.
- I meant to do that.
- When is your Christmas Present officially "late" this year?
- It's like free therapy. Especially when I tell them stories about my marriage. And they tell me, "Gosh. I always wondered how somebody could be stupid enough to end up in that situation. Now I know." At least I get to hear it from my editors before I hear it from everybody else.
- Imagine Jean Claud Van Dam playing himself. He's actually a sad, gentle little man.
- They don't look like cookie rejects to you? Well, taste one. Then you'll understand why I gave them to you.
- Boil down all the wisdom I wish I could go back and give my younger self, and you get this: Eat salad and lift weights-- the rest will take care of itself.
- You have a studded tire for your BICYCLE??
- You've just created another Vin Diesel fan, haven't you.
- Yeah, I know I need some sort of mal-practice insurance for all the great advice I keep giving everybody.
- I think Nateuropathic Medicine is when you're allergic to cats, so they make you eat cat to solve the problem.
- No, really, you WANT to hear this story about eating cat faces in China!
- Dude, people puke on me at work. You spitting when you talk is like NOTHING in comparison. Really. And then there was this guy with a dead mouse on his belly.
- Maybe I need to work on my compassion for fat people.
- ...And then I get the munchies and play stupid video games all day. What side effects do YOU get?
- "Friends with Benefits." That means "free fugck" in french, doesn't it?
Snow Daze
Holiday greetings to everyone. I'm so excited that we have SNOW just now!! How often does THAT happen in December?!
Had a great talk with my good friend SLM recently, speaking of snow. We decided that anybody who is not us should not be driving in it. Because we both learned in Michigan winters, with snow and ice and wind, oh my! And therefore, our snow driving skills are superior. Especially when you consider that most of the folks on the road in the West just now learned to drive in California.
I had breakfast with another great friend of mine-- Big D-- this morning. He rode his bike on the icy streets. I drove my light-weight no-traction-anyway little car. We figure the only thing we have in common about transportation right now is that we both get out and walk on the hills.
And, while driving (very slowly) to meet him, I saw a lot of driving that made my teeth hurt. Idiots thinking that because they drive a truck with big-ass wheels, ice does not affect them. People who drove nice and slow and safe while moving, but didn't give themselves enough time to stop the vehicle (and thus went straight through the red light while the rest of us who DID manage to stop safely just watch them slide past). You know you're in the Pacific Northwest when the folks who accidentally slide through an intersection on a red light wave their thanks to the cars on either side for not hitting them. In Chicago, the fugcker flying through on the red just flips everyone else off on his way past.
Anyway, back to the great conversation I had with my friend SLM. We also came up with yet another awesome word to add to my personal vocabulary list: passenjerk. Because we've both had the misfortune to be stuck driving some fool and his opinions around in our cars. In fact, my X used to get more angry at me and be a bigger jerk toward me when we were driving than at most other times (there are exceptions). I think it was because he knew I couldn't escape at those times. Sad but true. If you're going to have a big-angry or difficult discussion? Don't do it while one of you is driving. Please. And make sure your breaks are working well beforehand. Trust me.
In the meantime, I'm really enjoying the wind and the white and the sparkly silence that come with winter weather here. Even the sun is more exciting when it snows beforehand. So, as I've been saying to my clients and friends alike: Happy Everything!!
Had a great talk with my good friend SLM recently, speaking of snow. We decided that anybody who is not us should not be driving in it. Because we both learned in Michigan winters, with snow and ice and wind, oh my! And therefore, our snow driving skills are superior. Especially when you consider that most of the folks on the road in the West just now learned to drive in California.
I had breakfast with another great friend of mine-- Big D-- this morning. He rode his bike on the icy streets. I drove my light-weight no-traction-anyway little car. We figure the only thing we have in common about transportation right now is that we both get out and walk on the hills.
And, while driving (very slowly) to meet him, I saw a lot of driving that made my teeth hurt. Idiots thinking that because they drive a truck with big-ass wheels, ice does not affect them. People who drove nice and slow and safe while moving, but didn't give themselves enough time to stop the vehicle (and thus went straight through the red light while the rest of us who DID manage to stop safely just watch them slide past). You know you're in the Pacific Northwest when the folks who accidentally slide through an intersection on a red light wave their thanks to the cars on either side for not hitting them. In Chicago, the fugcker flying through on the red just flips everyone else off on his way past.
Anyway, back to the great conversation I had with my friend SLM. We also came up with yet another awesome word to add to my personal vocabulary list: passenjerk. Because we've both had the misfortune to be stuck driving some fool and his opinions around in our cars. In fact, my X used to get more angry at me and be a bigger jerk toward me when we were driving than at most other times (there are exceptions). I think it was because he knew I couldn't escape at those times. Sad but true. If you're going to have a big-angry or difficult discussion? Don't do it while one of you is driving. Please. And make sure your breaks are working well beforehand. Trust me.
In the meantime, I'm really enjoying the wind and the white and the sparkly silence that come with winter weather here. Even the sun is more exciting when it snows beforehand. So, as I've been saying to my clients and friends alike: Happy Everything!!
Sunday, December 7
Waiting for Forgiveness
I've been ill the last week. I'm definitely getting better, but it's been eight days since I could say I really felt functional. And I've still got an overabundance of green snot.
Eww!
Those eight days covered the first of the month-- the day I have not one but three rent checks due. Rent for my storage space. Rent for my office. Rent for my apartment. Friday was the day after thanksgiving. I had big plans to get a few of those rent payments made then-- the 30th of November. But I stayed overnight with family in another town, and had about an hour of time at home-- frantically unpacking, repacking, petting grumpy cats, feeding hungry cats, feeding hungry me, trying to get my contacts to function in my eyes, and on and on like that-- before I got back in the car and drove another two hours to my next big holiday gathering of the weekend.
The rent didn't get paid.
Monday was the first. By Sunday, I knew I was sick. I didn't leave my bed much. I think I made it downstairs for food once or twice. Oh, on Monday I did drive out to the storage unit to make that payment. It was a painful trip, but I needed another couple boxes of kleenex, so I made it happen. I had a client planned for Tuesday-- I thought I'd pay rent when I went to the office then. By Monday night, I called my clients for Tuesday AND Wednesday-- to reschedule. I was that sick.
My Thursday client called to reschedule, too. She is on meds that repress her immuno system. Neither of us wanted her to get sick. So I didn't get into the office on that day either. That night, I realized too late to call my office landlord that I never did let her know what was going on with the rent check. That it was really late now. And I felt like shit.
In the midst of that thought process, as if I thought of it because she thought of it-- she called to ask me what was going on with the rent check. I never wanted her to have to do that. And I felt shitty about not getting it to her on time. Shitty that I was relying on her goodness of heart to not charge me tons of late fees, and for it to be okay that I just was too sick to remember to pay her somehow.
So I called back, but she didn't answer. And I've left her a payment-- and called twice a day since Thursday for one reason or another. And she hasn't answered any of my calls, nor returned any of my messages. I'm being a pest, and I know it. But I made a mistake. And I feel bad. And I want her to tell me that it's okay. That things like this happen, and it isn't a big deal. I want her to forgive me so that I can forgive myself.
Intellectually, I know my landlord probably wouldn't have cashed the check by now anyway-- but we have a contract, and I broke it. I broke it enough that she had to follow up with me about it-- and I didn't follow up with her first. I left her a check on Friday-- the fifth of the month.
The worst part is that I actually tried to take care of myself on Saturday. To sleep enough to finally get well-- and I slept long enough that I totally missed going to the bank before it closed to deposit money to COVER the checks I wrote for rent. I hate being in debt. I hate being afraid of writing checks and buying food on credit. And right now, I can't even find someone to buy my car for it's actual kelly-blue-book value. I find myself praying that the auto-payment on the car loan won't come out until Tuesday-- after I've had a chance to put money I don't have in the bank.
I know the world is in recession. I know everyone around me is feeling the pinch. I saw it all coming early enough to have done something about it, too. But somehow, doing everything I could wasn't enough, or wasn't the right thing at the right time. Somehow, here I am in as big a mess as everybody else, with student loans and car loans and credit card loans and family loans to pay off, and a new business to get off the ground... and no income.
I know that part of why that payment was late is that I spent the week hoping for a miracle. Hoping for enough clients to have appointments and pay me for them that I'd have money in the bank to cover my expenses. And someday, I know I will. I love what I do, and it's important and valuable work. The clients I do have love my services and return as often as they can. It's a huge compliment. Exciting.
But as yet, it hasn't covered my bills. So I'm downsizing. Trying to clear out my storage unit. Trying to sell my car. Trying to live on what money my business DOES bring in. Daydreaming of a time when I can build my own home, and include space for renters, maybe even space to see clients there, so that all my income doesn't come from one place. So that I can start to put money away for retirement. So that my lifestyle really does support Mother Earth.
Because the home I want to build will be insulated enough to keep out summer heat and keep in winter warmth with only the help of a zero-emission masonry fireplace. A home that collects rainwater for household use, and reuses/harvests gray water in sustainable ways. A home that I feel safe sleeping in at night, and that has spaces for me to welcome friends for a visit now and then. And a root cellar to store foods away, so that I can spend my money on local farmers and in-season produce, and benefit year-round from having done so. Maybe even find time for a garden of my own. And grow my own herbs for the healing teas and tonics and ointments that I make.
Maybe then I'll finally feel like I've managed right-living with the Earth. Maybe by the time I do all that, I'll even be able to afford health insurance again. I'd like that. It's been a few years since I had any, or dental, or eye. And my teeth could use a good cleaning.
But for now I wait. And hope that by the time I act, it won't be too late for the Earth and all her children to forgive me for not having acted sooner. For squandering her resources and mine-- back when I didn't realize there weren't any more resources coming to fill those now-empty mines and forest lands and bank accounts...
I hate waiting.
Eww!
Those eight days covered the first of the month-- the day I have not one but three rent checks due. Rent for my storage space. Rent for my office. Rent for my apartment. Friday was the day after thanksgiving. I had big plans to get a few of those rent payments made then-- the 30th of November. But I stayed overnight with family in another town, and had about an hour of time at home-- frantically unpacking, repacking, petting grumpy cats, feeding hungry cats, feeding hungry me, trying to get my contacts to function in my eyes, and on and on like that-- before I got back in the car and drove another two hours to my next big holiday gathering of the weekend.
The rent didn't get paid.
Monday was the first. By Sunday, I knew I was sick. I didn't leave my bed much. I think I made it downstairs for food once or twice. Oh, on Monday I did drive out to the storage unit to make that payment. It was a painful trip, but I needed another couple boxes of kleenex, so I made it happen. I had a client planned for Tuesday-- I thought I'd pay rent when I went to the office then. By Monday night, I called my clients for Tuesday AND Wednesday-- to reschedule. I was that sick.
My Thursday client called to reschedule, too. She is on meds that repress her immuno system. Neither of us wanted her to get sick. So I didn't get into the office on that day either. That night, I realized too late to call my office landlord that I never did let her know what was going on with the rent check. That it was really late now. And I felt like shit.
In the midst of that thought process, as if I thought of it because she thought of it-- she called to ask me what was going on with the rent check. I never wanted her to have to do that. And I felt shitty about not getting it to her on time. Shitty that I was relying on her goodness of heart to not charge me tons of late fees, and for it to be okay that I just was too sick to remember to pay her somehow.
So I called back, but she didn't answer. And I've left her a payment-- and called twice a day since Thursday for one reason or another. And she hasn't answered any of my calls, nor returned any of my messages. I'm being a pest, and I know it. But I made a mistake. And I feel bad. And I want her to tell me that it's okay. That things like this happen, and it isn't a big deal. I want her to forgive me so that I can forgive myself.
Intellectually, I know my landlord probably wouldn't have cashed the check by now anyway-- but we have a contract, and I broke it. I broke it enough that she had to follow up with me about it-- and I didn't follow up with her first. I left her a check on Friday-- the fifth of the month.
The worst part is that I actually tried to take care of myself on Saturday. To sleep enough to finally get well-- and I slept long enough that I totally missed going to the bank before it closed to deposit money to COVER the checks I wrote for rent. I hate being in debt. I hate being afraid of writing checks and buying food on credit. And right now, I can't even find someone to buy my car for it's actual kelly-blue-book value. I find myself praying that the auto-payment on the car loan won't come out until Tuesday-- after I've had a chance to put money I don't have in the bank.
I know the world is in recession. I know everyone around me is feeling the pinch. I saw it all coming early enough to have done something about it, too. But somehow, doing everything I could wasn't enough, or wasn't the right thing at the right time. Somehow, here I am in as big a mess as everybody else, with student loans and car loans and credit card loans and family loans to pay off, and a new business to get off the ground... and no income.
I know that part of why that payment was late is that I spent the week hoping for a miracle. Hoping for enough clients to have appointments and pay me for them that I'd have money in the bank to cover my expenses. And someday, I know I will. I love what I do, and it's important and valuable work. The clients I do have love my services and return as often as they can. It's a huge compliment. Exciting.
But as yet, it hasn't covered my bills. So I'm downsizing. Trying to clear out my storage unit. Trying to sell my car. Trying to live on what money my business DOES bring in. Daydreaming of a time when I can build my own home, and include space for renters, maybe even space to see clients there, so that all my income doesn't come from one place. So that I can start to put money away for retirement. So that my lifestyle really does support Mother Earth.
Because the home I want to build will be insulated enough to keep out summer heat and keep in winter warmth with only the help of a zero-emission masonry fireplace. A home that collects rainwater for household use, and reuses/harvests gray water in sustainable ways. A home that I feel safe sleeping in at night, and that has spaces for me to welcome friends for a visit now and then. And a root cellar to store foods away, so that I can spend my money on local farmers and in-season produce, and benefit year-round from having done so. Maybe even find time for a garden of my own. And grow my own herbs for the healing teas and tonics and ointments that I make.
Maybe then I'll finally feel like I've managed right-living with the Earth. Maybe by the time I do all that, I'll even be able to afford health insurance again. I'd like that. It's been a few years since I had any, or dental, or eye. And my teeth could use a good cleaning.
But for now I wait. And hope that by the time I act, it won't be too late for the Earth and all her children to forgive me for not having acted sooner. For squandering her resources and mine-- back when I didn't realize there weren't any more resources coming to fill those now-empty mines and forest lands and bank accounts...
I hate waiting.
Wednesday, November 19
T is for Timid
Haleleujia Brother! I am here to comfort the sinner, and return the stray man to the Pope. Let him whose...
ever see the movie "Cat Balou" ... a lot? It was one of my favorites for about six months there somewhere in the dank depths of my pre-teen weirdness. I don't know if it explains something, or makes me even scarier... but it's TRUE.
And today, I am here to tell you that it is HARD. HARD. HARD to communicate to people in the office without stepping on landmines of the shitastrophic variety. Land mines. In the office. Hidden. Evil. ...or, to quote an office-mate of mine who happened to be talking about the way my email made her feel about our relationship... Icky.
Yes. I made the mistake of letting her know that I was getting frustrated after her sixth attempt to reschedule me to a new time and/or date for an appointment. Even spread out over the two appointments we tried to set, that's pushing it. But she didn't ask for feedback, or maybe the moon is in Saturn again, or maybe she'd just been told the same thing by a REAL client, and not just the upstart new office-mate who was doing a trade-- my services for hers-- and it rubbed her the wrong way.
Sigh. I decided that rather than jeopardize my comfort (and everyone else's) while working in the office we all share, I'd take full responsibility for our "miscommunication" and apologize.
A lot.
I think she has forgiven me, and decided to move magnanimously forward without holding any bad feelings for how I insulted her. I am grateful, Yogisan. I am also going to write scathing criticisms of the Icky in the Office Communication Network on my private blog-- because it makes me feel a little bit better about things.
Sad, but True. Just like my pre-teen fascination with corny Westerns with wimpy female leads.
ever see the movie "Cat Balou" ... a lot? It was one of my favorites for about six months there somewhere in the dank depths of my pre-teen weirdness. I don't know if it explains something, or makes me even scarier... but it's TRUE.
And today, I am here to tell you that it is HARD. HARD. HARD to communicate to people in the office without stepping on landmines of the shitastrophic variety. Land mines. In the office. Hidden. Evil. ...or, to quote an office-mate of mine who happened to be talking about the way my email made her feel about our relationship... Icky.
Yes. I made the mistake of letting her know that I was getting frustrated after her sixth attempt to reschedule me to a new time and/or date for an appointment. Even spread out over the two appointments we tried to set, that's pushing it. But she didn't ask for feedback, or maybe the moon is in Saturn again, or maybe she'd just been told the same thing by a REAL client, and not just the upstart new office-mate who was doing a trade-- my services for hers-- and it rubbed her the wrong way.
Sigh. I decided that rather than jeopardize my comfort (and everyone else's) while working in the office we all share, I'd take full responsibility for our "miscommunication" and apologize.
A lot.
I think she has forgiven me, and decided to move magnanimously forward without holding any bad feelings for how I insulted her. I am grateful, Yogisan. I am also going to write scathing criticisms of the Icky in the Office Communication Network on my private blog-- because it makes me feel a little bit better about things.
Sad, but True. Just like my pre-teen fascination with corny Westerns with wimpy female leads.
Thursday, October 30
PT for Writers
Every Wednesday night, I attend a writing group. I look forward all week to this event, excited to read my pages and hear the feedback from my peers and advisers. Every week, I am nearly late, frantically pulling together my pages, my final edits, my nerve-- and heading off to work.
And it is work. I am writing down some difficult memories, to be picked over as a stranger might do a cold plate of french fries after lunch. It is hard for me to visualize some past events with enough clarity to write them down so others can vicariously experience those events, too. Hard because I don't want to relive those times. Hard because old wounds heal slowly, and my flesh is still tender. The critiques are always helpful-- but sometimes they still hurt.
Driving home tonight, I realized I was shaking with the after-effects of fight-or-flight adrenaline. That primed response of our bodies in a state of sudden fear. It is scary to remember a time we never want to repeat. It is exhausting, and emotionally draining, too.
Why do I do this? Why do I keep writing, editing, returning every Wednesday night for another dose of dread? Well... I thought about that on my way home. I realized that the truth I share with my clients also applies to me. If I want to find the lessons that will help me move beyond a bad memory or experience, I have to work through the experience. I have to be willing to go piece-by-piece through my past, and throw out what isn't useful. Claim the lessons. Claim my inner strength, my integrity, my changes and the personal growth that I've experienced since those events occurred.
I am lucky. Writing is, for me, cleansing. Putting down on a page all the things I didn't want to forget, but hate to remember-- It lets me rest from the burden of remembering. It lets me put down the memory without fear of losing or repeating the lesson-- I can re-read it any time I feel a need. I am literally lightening my load at each Wednesday night Writer's Group. Freeing up mental and emotional space one jaw-clenching page at a time. Making room for something new.
Just after a car accident, we are in trauma. When the danger has past, and the person stabilized, there is often a long and painful period of physical therapy. A time when we re-learn how to inhabit our bodies, and work through the pain of healing. And so I look forward to these sessions, knowing I'll be exhausted and in pain at the end. Knowing that it's a good kind of pain, and not a punishment. Knowing that I am re-learning how to inhabit my emotional landscape, learning how best to lean forward into my life.
I have seen friends in crisis who were so scared of the pain they might feel if they acknowledged the hurtful situation they were in-- that they simply refused to get therapy. The fear of the healing process was bigger than the ugly situation they were actually living in. We seem, intuitively, to know just how painful it will be to work through our injuries and our traumas. And yet, so often, we turn a blind eye to the trauma or the situation that we live through every day instead.
Getting help, asking for someone to hold your hand and help you move through the pain toward a healthier life, it's a big deal. I have great respect for anyone who can battle their fear enough to ask for help-- to keep asking for help until they are well. Who uses that extra bit of energy that allows us to learn from old hurts, and old patterns, so that we don't repeat them. So that we understand our own personal process of healing, and are able to fully embrace our individual presence in the world.
Driving home from my Writer's Group tonight, I appreciated all over again the courage and the energy my clients put into their own healing process. I honor their victory and their commitment to becoming fully themselves. Their willingness to come back to the table every couple of weeks, ready for more hard work. And then I sit at my computer, and write another chapter in my own story, getting ready for next week's healing critique.
And it is work. I am writing down some difficult memories, to be picked over as a stranger might do a cold plate of french fries after lunch. It is hard for me to visualize some past events with enough clarity to write them down so others can vicariously experience those events, too. Hard because I don't want to relive those times. Hard because old wounds heal slowly, and my flesh is still tender. The critiques are always helpful-- but sometimes they still hurt.
Driving home tonight, I realized I was shaking with the after-effects of fight-or-flight adrenaline. That primed response of our bodies in a state of sudden fear. It is scary to remember a time we never want to repeat. It is exhausting, and emotionally draining, too.
Why do I do this? Why do I keep writing, editing, returning every Wednesday night for another dose of dread? Well... I thought about that on my way home. I realized that the truth I share with my clients also applies to me. If I want to find the lessons that will help me move beyond a bad memory or experience, I have to work through the experience. I have to be willing to go piece-by-piece through my past, and throw out what isn't useful. Claim the lessons. Claim my inner strength, my integrity, my changes and the personal growth that I've experienced since those events occurred.
I am lucky. Writing is, for me, cleansing. Putting down on a page all the things I didn't want to forget, but hate to remember-- It lets me rest from the burden of remembering. It lets me put down the memory without fear of losing or repeating the lesson-- I can re-read it any time I feel a need. I am literally lightening my load at each Wednesday night Writer's Group. Freeing up mental and emotional space one jaw-clenching page at a time. Making room for something new.
Just after a car accident, we are in trauma. When the danger has past, and the person stabilized, there is often a long and painful period of physical therapy. A time when we re-learn how to inhabit our bodies, and work through the pain of healing. And so I look forward to these sessions, knowing I'll be exhausted and in pain at the end. Knowing that it's a good kind of pain, and not a punishment. Knowing that I am re-learning how to inhabit my emotional landscape, learning how best to lean forward into my life.
I have seen friends in crisis who were so scared of the pain they might feel if they acknowledged the hurtful situation they were in-- that they simply refused to get therapy. The fear of the healing process was bigger than the ugly situation they were actually living in. We seem, intuitively, to know just how painful it will be to work through our injuries and our traumas. And yet, so often, we turn a blind eye to the trauma or the situation that we live through every day instead.
Getting help, asking for someone to hold your hand and help you move through the pain toward a healthier life, it's a big deal. I have great respect for anyone who can battle their fear enough to ask for help-- to keep asking for help until they are well. Who uses that extra bit of energy that allows us to learn from old hurts, and old patterns, so that we don't repeat them. So that we understand our own personal process of healing, and are able to fully embrace our individual presence in the world.
Driving home from my Writer's Group tonight, I appreciated all over again the courage and the energy my clients put into their own healing process. I honor their victory and their commitment to becoming fully themselves. Their willingness to come back to the table every couple of weeks, ready for more hard work. And then I sit at my computer, and write another chapter in my own story, getting ready for next week's healing critique.
Thursday, October 23
Glossy
Today, I finally made an appointment with the volunteer business counselors at SCORE (yay free!), and applied for about four writing or researching -intensive jobs in town. It's been quite a day. I have to tell you, I'm frustrated with the online testing idea. It's a great idea, but the kind of people that test well with no context and no actual customer service skills? They aren't necessarily what I'd call a representative sampling of the exceptional customer service and networking crowd, doncha know.
Also, if I have to start over from scratch every time I try to click on something that isn't part of the "acceptable path to success" that they've mapped out one click at a time? They make you start over. Yeah. So the number of clicks seem to be on a golf scoring system-- anything above the proscribed number of clicks counts against you. Also, everything is timed.
I really wanted a moment of Godzilla-ness by the time I ran out of time for being online taking the damn test at the library, and had to log off, after only completing about five of the eight sections of testing for computer skills and speeds and program abilities-- for a CUSTOMER SERVICE JOB!!! And I still don't know who the employer is.
Yeah. In other news, I'm excited to meet with the small business dudes. They are both named David. They are worried that this will confuse me. They don't know anything about my specific "specialty" as they delicately put it, but they are willing to work with me on marketing it. And for all the irony in my blogger-voice, I really do appreciate their willingness to do so. I suspect that working with competent business dudes who are uncomfortable with alternative healing therapies will benefit me in several ways. First, anything THEY like, ANYBODY will like. Second, They'll really know what to avoid mentioning when I go on my quest for sponsorship and micro-loans. Third, they probably have CONNECTIONS.
Thank you, David.
Also, a possible apartment option has opened up near where I already live. And for about the combined price of my storage and current rent payments every month. There's definitely some potential there. AND the person who is moving out is a friend of mine, with cats. And she built them a window-deck for outdoor kitty viewing pleasure. Which she and the landlord will leave up for me, if I end up taking the space. (There is someone else with a one-day head start on the "I want that" process, but move-in isn't until December, and I've got awesome insider connections, so hey.)
Kudos, by the way, to this amazing nutritional booster juice called Ageless Extra. Taken daily, in small doses, it overcomes headcolds in a single leap! It provides boundless youthful energy when you forget to sleep! It slices, dices, and even fills in all the nutritional gaps in ANYBODY's diet-- making your body AND your mind regenerate faster, younger, smarter. (Now with gold body glitter and free tongue-piercing!!)
Okay, I lied about the body glitter. But it really does make a noticeable difference in the elasticity of my health, and my overall daily performance. And I digest it one hella-hundred percent better than any daily multivitamin I've ever tried. Dinner with friends on the nights I need to re-stock my supply is a welcome bonus.
OH-- and I am getting published in a nice little local seasonal newspaper called OpenWays. The issue they tell me I'm in comes out December 1st. Happy Winter, everybody!
....WHEEEEEE.....
Also, if I have to start over from scratch every time I try to click on something that isn't part of the "acceptable path to success" that they've mapped out one click at a time? They make you start over. Yeah. So the number of clicks seem to be on a golf scoring system-- anything above the proscribed number of clicks counts against you. Also, everything is timed.
I really wanted a moment of Godzilla-ness by the time I ran out of time for being online taking the damn test at the library, and had to log off, after only completing about five of the eight sections of testing for computer skills and speeds and program abilities-- for a CUSTOMER SERVICE JOB!!! And I still don't know who the employer is.
Yeah. In other news, I'm excited to meet with the small business dudes. They are both named David. They are worried that this will confuse me. They don't know anything about my specific "specialty" as they delicately put it, but they are willing to work with me on marketing it. And for all the irony in my blogger-voice, I really do appreciate their willingness to do so. I suspect that working with competent business dudes who are uncomfortable with alternative healing therapies will benefit me in several ways. First, anything THEY like, ANYBODY will like. Second, They'll really know what to avoid mentioning when I go on my quest for sponsorship and micro-loans. Third, they probably have CONNECTIONS.
Thank you, David.
Also, a possible apartment option has opened up near where I already live. And for about the combined price of my storage and current rent payments every month. There's definitely some potential there. AND the person who is moving out is a friend of mine, with cats. And she built them a window-deck for outdoor kitty viewing pleasure. Which she and the landlord will leave up for me, if I end up taking the space. (There is someone else with a one-day head start on the "I want that" process, but move-in isn't until December, and I've got awesome insider connections, so hey.)
Kudos, by the way, to this amazing nutritional booster juice called Ageless Extra. Taken daily, in small doses, it overcomes headcolds in a single leap! It provides boundless youthful energy when you forget to sleep! It slices, dices, and even fills in all the nutritional gaps in ANYBODY's diet-- making your body AND your mind regenerate faster, younger, smarter. (Now with gold body glitter and free tongue-piercing!!)
Okay, I lied about the body glitter. But it really does make a noticeable difference in the elasticity of my health, and my overall daily performance. And I digest it one hella-hundred percent better than any daily multivitamin I've ever tried. Dinner with friends on the nights I need to re-stock my supply is a welcome bonus.
OH-- and I am getting published in a nice little local seasonal newspaper called OpenWays. The issue they tell me I'm in comes out December 1st. Happy Winter, everybody!
....WHEEEEEE.....
Thursday, October 9
Once Toady
Someone once told me that electronics work better at cooler temperatures. It's one of the reasons that working Intel is such a great job in the Argmy-- because you get to sit in air conditioned rooms with all the electronics and shight.
I think the electronics in my bedroom must be THRILLED. And, if I discover that they are all functioning at 3x their normal efficiency, I will feel that this is only fair. Because I had to work on my computer for about four hours this morning before I got into the nice hot shower... and it took about oh... most of the shower... to get my fingers warm enough to where the hot water didn't hurt them anymore. Not because the water was hotter than usual-- it wasn't. Rather, because my fingers were just that damn cold.
Anytime you have to wear the same winter clothes IN THE HOUSE as you do OUTSIDE THE HOUSE-- that's when you use your credit card to buy a really efficient space heater that can run full time without bursting into flame-- and you plug the sucker in, and RUN IT. Especially if you also have an arthritic kitty who really loves you, and walks with a bigger limp than normal when she's really cold and it's raining outside.
I would like all my well-wishers to put their thoughts toward "Staci works at a job that feeds both her life purpose AND her budget more than enough." Just repeat that a few times for me, and we'll see how things go from here.
Personally, I'm posting flyers in appropriate locations about my upcoming Workshops. And I'm planning to apply for that part time Reference Librarian position that just came up in Lake Oswego. And I'm planning to apply for some micro-loans in the hope that I will be able to jump-start some appropriate advertising for my Consulting Business (and make home heating bill payments and student loan payments, among other things).
I'm also going to go hide my frozen fingers-- the ones with the slightly green-blue tinge-- in the electric blanket for an hour or two before I go to bed now. Maybe also my toes. If I have any. I can't tell at the moment.
...Staci works at a job that feeds both her life purpose AND her budget more than enough. Staci works at a job that feeds both her life purpose AND her budget more than enough. Staci works...
I think the electronics in my bedroom must be THRILLED. And, if I discover that they are all functioning at 3x their normal efficiency, I will feel that this is only fair. Because I had to work on my computer for about four hours this morning before I got into the nice hot shower... and it took about oh... most of the shower... to get my fingers warm enough to where the hot water didn't hurt them anymore. Not because the water was hotter than usual-- it wasn't. Rather, because my fingers were just that damn cold.
Anytime you have to wear the same winter clothes IN THE HOUSE as you do OUTSIDE THE HOUSE-- that's when you use your credit card to buy a really efficient space heater that can run full time without bursting into flame-- and you plug the sucker in, and RUN IT. Especially if you also have an arthritic kitty who really loves you, and walks with a bigger limp than normal when she's really cold and it's raining outside.
I would like all my well-wishers to put their thoughts toward "Staci works at a job that feeds both her life purpose AND her budget more than enough." Just repeat that a few times for me, and we'll see how things go from here.
Personally, I'm posting flyers in appropriate locations about my upcoming Workshops. And I'm planning to apply for that part time Reference Librarian position that just came up in Lake Oswego. And I'm planning to apply for some micro-loans in the hope that I will be able to jump-start some appropriate advertising for my Consulting Business (and make home heating bill payments and student loan payments, among other things).
I'm also going to go hide my frozen fingers-- the ones with the slightly green-blue tinge-- in the electric blanket for an hour or two before I go to bed now. Maybe also my toes. If I have any. I can't tell at the moment.
...Staci works at a job that feeds both her life purpose AND her budget more than enough. Staci works at a job that feeds both her life purpose AND her budget more than enough. Staci works...
Monday, October 6
'Weenie
Halloween is coming.
And all the leaves are finally starting to change color...
those that aren't being knocked down by the suddenly cold rain.
Halloween is coming.
And all the politicians are finally starting to ignore color...
those that don't want to be left out in the cold come November.
Halloween is coming.
And all I can think is that I'd really like to get my hands on
that old cult movie called Buffy the Vampire Slayer-- the one that predated the TV series and had that guy from 90210.
Halloween is coming.
And although I really like my housemate and her cats...
those open windows and the lack of heat make things pretty damn cold in this rain.
It inspires in me a strange sort of poetry--
It's an effort to keep my fingers from freezing, and my face from falling into a frown
because Halloween is coming, and Autumn is my favorite time of year.
And all the leaves are finally starting to change color...
those that aren't being knocked down by the suddenly cold rain.
Halloween is coming.
And all the politicians are finally starting to ignore color...
those that don't want to be left out in the cold come November.
Halloween is coming.
And all I can think is that I'd really like to get my hands on
that old cult movie called Buffy the Vampire Slayer-- the one that predated the TV series and had that guy from 90210.
Halloween is coming.
And although I really like my housemate and her cats...
those open windows and the lack of heat make things pretty damn cold in this rain.
It inspires in me a strange sort of poetry--
It's an effort to keep my fingers from freezing, and my face from falling into a frown
because Halloween is coming, and Autumn is my favorite time of year.
Spaminatious & Palincomparison
So I don't know how, but McKain't got ahold of my small business email address. In the month since that horrible horrible event, his campaign (all three email addresses of it) has sent me on average 5 pieces of spam a week. It sux.
Now, today, he seems to have also found a second of my business-related email addresses. And the email I received was titled, "Dear Campaign Supporter." This man is so lost, I seriously think he could find his dick with both hands and a flashlight, but only if somebody paid him to do it. Let's not even get into his sidekick, Palincomparison.
Instead, I'd like to say how much I appreciate the goals and intent that Mr. Obama has highlighted repeatedly throughout his campaign, and the fact that he has NOT sent out spam, has NOT lied, and has actually shown an amazingly high level of moral and personal integrity, social awareness, and intelligence-- for a politician. I really appreciate that man, and many of the things he stands for.
Mostly, I just want America to stop losing individual civil rights, start using wind and solar energy and natural gas as our top three sources for powering cars, and providing homes and businesses with energy. I'd like to see a minimum of 25 mpg for all vehicles on the road by 2010. I'd like a reward program in place to assist folks who make less than $50,000 a year to switch to an electric-powered vehicle. I'd like the vehicles driven (and available for sale) in America to get an average (an AVERAGE) of 50mpg by 2012. And I'd like America to reinvest in education. Both by emphasizing quality and skills and experience over test scores, and by returning to a system that allows people with low incomes to actually AFFORD COLLEGE so they can gain increased skills, and still pay rent. I'd also like to change-up the tax system, so that the only people who pay taxes (or social security, since I doubt I'll ever get any of it) are those whose TAKE-HOME-PAY is over $40,000 a year. And anybody who makes over $1 mil a year should be in the REAL tax brackets for folks who pay up on what the rest of us really can't afford to lose out of our meager incomes. Really now.
Also, while we're on the subject, I'd like to make Yoga and afternoon naps mandatory for everyone over the age of twelve. I'd also like to see a certain withering shrub get implumbed... but hey-- dreams are cheep, and not much else is anymore. Anyway, I'm kinda hoping that I get taken of those dagmn spaminatious political email lists sooner than later. Like-- I don't want to have to wait for November to have the stupidity end. It really makes me ill to see one sitting in my inbox. Every day.
Now, today, he seems to have also found a second of my business-related email addresses. And the email I received was titled, "Dear Campaign Supporter." This man is so lost, I seriously think he could find his dick with both hands and a flashlight, but only if somebody paid him to do it. Let's not even get into his sidekick, Palincomparison.
Instead, I'd like to say how much I appreciate the goals and intent that Mr. Obama has highlighted repeatedly throughout his campaign, and the fact that he has NOT sent out spam, has NOT lied, and has actually shown an amazingly high level of moral and personal integrity, social awareness, and intelligence-- for a politician. I really appreciate that man, and many of the things he stands for.
Mostly, I just want America to stop losing individual civil rights, start using wind and solar energy and natural gas as our top three sources for powering cars, and providing homes and businesses with energy. I'd like to see a minimum of 25 mpg for all vehicles on the road by 2010. I'd like a reward program in place to assist folks who make less than $50,000 a year to switch to an electric-powered vehicle. I'd like the vehicles driven (and available for sale) in America to get an average (an AVERAGE) of 50mpg by 2012. And I'd like America to reinvest in education. Both by emphasizing quality and skills and experience over test scores, and by returning to a system that allows people with low incomes to actually AFFORD COLLEGE so they can gain increased skills, and still pay rent. I'd also like to change-up the tax system, so that the only people who pay taxes (or social security, since I doubt I'll ever get any of it) are those whose TAKE-HOME-PAY is over $40,000 a year. And anybody who makes over $1 mil a year should be in the REAL tax brackets for folks who pay up on what the rest of us really can't afford to lose out of our meager incomes. Really now.
Also, while we're on the subject, I'd like to make Yoga and afternoon naps mandatory for everyone over the age of twelve. I'd also like to see a certain withering shrub get implumbed... but hey-- dreams are cheep, and not much else is anymore. Anyway, I'm kinda hoping that I get taken of those dagmn spaminatious political email lists sooner than later. Like-- I don't want to have to wait for November to have the stupidity end. It really makes me ill to see one sitting in my inbox. Every day.
Monday, September 29
Nu Nu Nu
The paint went up on the walls today! Special low VOC paint, in Apple Green. The glass shade on the torchier broke in my car on the way there, too, but that's beside the point. Turns out, somebody has two comfortable chairs sitting in her garage because they need a new home, too. So now they're going to be my client chairs. Awesome, but still not the point. The point is-- tomorrow I finally move into my new office. I'm so excited, I could sing. Loudly. Those old tunes they used to play really loudly at the roller rink on Thursday nights.
:"My-mymymymy Miiiiiyyyyy SHERONA!!... Take me on an- ESSSScaPADE...and Let your Body GOOO with the FLOOO, just do ihhht.... and ROCK around the CLOCK tonight, VOGUE!":
Yeah. THAT excited.
It's the funniest little space, too. The only square corners are where the wall meets the ceiling-- an ugly pock-marked drop-down ceiling with really evil florescent lights in it. Which will soon be covered up by a really nice natural cotton curtain I bought at IKEA. We love IKEA. We also love my new officemate with the two chairs for my clients, and my main officemate whose husband did the painting for me today, and the awesome Apple Green paint. Yes! We do.
So now I'm going to bed. So that tomorrow, when I get up, I'll be ALL SET to move into my NEW OFFICE!!!! YAY!!! (and paint a lot of dark green leaves on the walls and find a way to haul one of my bookshelves from my storage unit to my office and find all my packed books about alternative healing that are somewhere in that storage unit-- hopefully in the same place as my flannel sheets are packed. I'd really like to find a second set of sheets for my bed here sometime.) YAY!!
:"My-mymymymy Miiiiiyyyyy SHERONA!!... Take me on an- ESSSScaPADE...and Let your Body GOOO with the FLOOO, just do ihhht.... and ROCK around the CLOCK tonight, VOGUE!":
Yeah. THAT excited.
It's the funniest little space, too. The only square corners are where the wall meets the ceiling-- an ugly pock-marked drop-down ceiling with really evil florescent lights in it. Which will soon be covered up by a really nice natural cotton curtain I bought at IKEA. We love IKEA. We also love my new officemate with the two chairs for my clients, and my main officemate whose husband did the painting for me today, and the awesome Apple Green paint. Yes! We do.
So now I'm going to bed. So that tomorrow, when I get up, I'll be ALL SET to move into my NEW OFFICE!!!! YAY!!! (and paint a lot of dark green leaves on the walls and find a way to haul one of my bookshelves from my storage unit to my office and find all my packed books about alternative healing that are somewhere in that storage unit-- hopefully in the same place as my flannel sheets are packed. I'd really like to find a second set of sheets for my bed here sometime.) YAY!!
Monday, September 15
Self-Offense
I'm becoming more and more aware of the ways in which women often punish and/or defend ourselves in situations where we feel we don't HAVE power or control or even basic rights.
As my business grows, I'm working with more and more women who have used food as a method of having control in their lives. They punish themselves for not being good enough by not eating. They over-eat to feel comforted and to fill an emotional void in their lives; they often become grossly overweight as a defense against rape and other sexual encounters they don't want to face.
We tell ourselves that we are not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not curvaceous enough, not smart enough, not accomplishing enough, not ENOUGH-- and in doing so, we limit ourselves so that nobody can do it to us. We don't want to give that power away, too. We don't want the criticism that women sometimes receive when we take risks, acknowledge our strengths and abilities, attempt change, rock the boat. There are enough critics in our lives already.
I'm learning that these patterns of behavior-- the self-criticism, and self-limiting; the over-eating and the starvation diet-- more and more, these are cropping up among men as well. And since these are "women's diseases" men often have an even harder time admitting that the problem exists, or understanding why, let alone seeking help to make positive changes and enact healthy patterns.
As a society, we cut ourselves off from feelings. From feeling too deeply, from recognizing our emotions and our reactions to our life experiences (especially the traumatic ones!). We ignore the messages our bodies try to send us in the form of felt aches, pains, and nausea. We get so caught up in trying to be smart and world-savvy that we ignore our own inner wisdom. We lose touch (if we ever found it to begin with) with our inner selves.
Sometimes we are so out of touch with our feelings that we fail to react in fight-or-flight situations; we don't get angry when we are mistreated, or we simply assume that we must have done SOMETHING to deserve the anger directed at us by another, the dismissal of our concerns and of our priorities.
And our internal criticism of our own not-enoughness becomes cruel. There is no pause to ask WHY we couldn't do 100 crunches at our twice-daily workout on Tuesday... after not eating for three days and then staying up all night to study for a class that we're taking after our 40-60-hour work week; caring for our households; caring for our families. Caring for everything but ourselves.
When is it time to care for ourselves? When do we pause and ask ourselves who has judged us-- where that criticism we are using as our measuring stick has come from... And then ask ourselves who has the right to determine our individual worth-- our individual definitions of a successful life. Most of the time, we begin by looking outside of ourselves for approval of our choices, our values, our style of dress and our sense of humor. We look outside of ourselves for clues about what we are supposed to do, who we are supposed to be, and what our reward for "getting it right" should look like. And none of it makes us very happy.
You see, until you have a good relationship with YOURSELF, until you like yourself and figure out what sort of a life would make YOU happy-- chances are, you won't be. It is a risk-- taking responsibility for our own choices and our own happiness. Back to the Cinderella Complex again, really. Hoping someone else will come along and save us from all this.
It's a risk to feel all those feelings that you've repressed or didn't even know you were having for so many years. What if they overwhelm you? Why are you suddenly getting ANGRY all the time?? Well... it's your body finally balancing out. All the emotions you ignored didn't go away-- they just got packed and compressed and repressed into this little box, and when you release the catch on the lid, it springs open and all the unfulfilled unhappy feelings come rushing out. ...But then, the box is empty. It no longer sits there oozing poison and secret shames, feeding your bodily illnesses and emotional instabilities and dependencies on people or on substances or on food-management.
There is finally space for you to learn new coping skills, to learn to recognize when you are having an emotion, and what emotion it is, and maybe even begin to recognize that there is probably a GOOD REASON for you to be having that emotion. Listening to yourself. Deciding how you want to act, now that you have all the information available to you. Befriending and trusting yourself. Accessing your inner wisdom. ...learning to love yourself as an imperfect and wonderful individual... Learning the joy of working toward a lifestyle and a decision-making process that will actually make you HAPPY!! Happy to be alive. Happy to be here, and do that, with people who appreciate you for YOU, and who share similar aspirations and a similar respect for you that you are learning to have yourself.
...If you don't learn to respect and love yourself-- to feel that your needs and your goals and your values and your decisions are important... nobody else will either. Make a different choice. And remember that even if the people you love and currently interact with don't support your goal of finding and appreciating yourself... someone else will. You are worth waiting for, worth searching for, worth working to find. Worth listening to. But this time, you get to do the waiting, working, listening and searching for yourself. It is deliciously empowering to put your energy and efforts to work in pursuit of your OWN GOALS-- and very few of the women I know have ever done this consciously. Intentionally.
Live intentionally. Live joyfully. Live your own life.
Dance on top of the world.
Please.
As my business grows, I'm working with more and more women who have used food as a method of having control in their lives. They punish themselves for not being good enough by not eating. They over-eat to feel comforted and to fill an emotional void in their lives; they often become grossly overweight as a defense against rape and other sexual encounters they don't want to face.
We tell ourselves that we are not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not curvaceous enough, not smart enough, not accomplishing enough, not ENOUGH-- and in doing so, we limit ourselves so that nobody can do it to us. We don't want to give that power away, too. We don't want the criticism that women sometimes receive when we take risks, acknowledge our strengths and abilities, attempt change, rock the boat. There are enough critics in our lives already.
I'm learning that these patterns of behavior-- the self-criticism, and self-limiting; the over-eating and the starvation diet-- more and more, these are cropping up among men as well. And since these are "women's diseases" men often have an even harder time admitting that the problem exists, or understanding why, let alone seeking help to make positive changes and enact healthy patterns.
As a society, we cut ourselves off from feelings. From feeling too deeply, from recognizing our emotions and our reactions to our life experiences (especially the traumatic ones!). We ignore the messages our bodies try to send us in the form of felt aches, pains, and nausea. We get so caught up in trying to be smart and world-savvy that we ignore our own inner wisdom. We lose touch (if we ever found it to begin with) with our inner selves.
Sometimes we are so out of touch with our feelings that we fail to react in fight-or-flight situations; we don't get angry when we are mistreated, or we simply assume that we must have done SOMETHING to deserve the anger directed at us by another, the dismissal of our concerns and of our priorities.
And our internal criticism of our own not-enoughness becomes cruel. There is no pause to ask WHY we couldn't do 100 crunches at our twice-daily workout on Tuesday... after not eating for three days and then staying up all night to study for a class that we're taking after our 40-60-hour work week; caring for our households; caring for our families. Caring for everything but ourselves.
When is it time to care for ourselves? When do we pause and ask ourselves who has judged us-- where that criticism we are using as our measuring stick has come from... And then ask ourselves who has the right to determine our individual worth-- our individual definitions of a successful life. Most of the time, we begin by looking outside of ourselves for approval of our choices, our values, our style of dress and our sense of humor. We look outside of ourselves for clues about what we are supposed to do, who we are supposed to be, and what our reward for "getting it right" should look like. And none of it makes us very happy.
You see, until you have a good relationship with YOURSELF, until you like yourself and figure out what sort of a life would make YOU happy-- chances are, you won't be. It is a risk-- taking responsibility for our own choices and our own happiness. Back to the Cinderella Complex again, really. Hoping someone else will come along and save us from all this.
It's a risk to feel all those feelings that you've repressed or didn't even know you were having for so many years. What if they overwhelm you? Why are you suddenly getting ANGRY all the time?? Well... it's your body finally balancing out. All the emotions you ignored didn't go away-- they just got packed and compressed and repressed into this little box, and when you release the catch on the lid, it springs open and all the unfulfilled unhappy feelings come rushing out. ...But then, the box is empty. It no longer sits there oozing poison and secret shames, feeding your bodily illnesses and emotional instabilities and dependencies on people or on substances or on food-management.
There is finally space for you to learn new coping skills, to learn to recognize when you are having an emotion, and what emotion it is, and maybe even begin to recognize that there is probably a GOOD REASON for you to be having that emotion. Listening to yourself. Deciding how you want to act, now that you have all the information available to you. Befriending and trusting yourself. Accessing your inner wisdom. ...learning to love yourself as an imperfect and wonderful individual... Learning the joy of working toward a lifestyle and a decision-making process that will actually make you HAPPY!! Happy to be alive. Happy to be here, and do that, with people who appreciate you for YOU, and who share similar aspirations and a similar respect for you that you are learning to have yourself.
...If you don't learn to respect and love yourself-- to feel that your needs and your goals and your values and your decisions are important... nobody else will either. Make a different choice. And remember that even if the people you love and currently interact with don't support your goal of finding and appreciating yourself... someone else will. You are worth waiting for, worth searching for, worth working to find. Worth listening to. But this time, you get to do the waiting, working, listening and searching for yourself. It is deliciously empowering to put your energy and efforts to work in pursuit of your OWN GOALS-- and very few of the women I know have ever done this consciously. Intentionally.
Live intentionally. Live joyfully. Live your own life.
Dance on top of the world.
Please.
Friday, September 12
In the Spirit of Christmas
I recently began to reminisce about Christmases past. I do that in the summer. Goes well with my habit of singing Christmas Carols in July. And that other habit I have of standing on one foot while doing the dishes. Anyway, here's what I wrote about what I remember:
Before I ever met him, he hated Christmas. Hated it for the same reason he hated his birthday-- they were too close together. They were fake. The attention wasn't really on him, and the gifts for the two were often combined into one bigger gift-- It made him bitter to be so short-changed. Isn't that strange?
It was a victory-- the buzz of war’s end and the fear-stench of D-day rolled into one-- the first time I brought a Christmas Tree into our house. Not our first year there, but our second. Such a little thing, a tree.
We negotiated back and forth, just a suggestion gently interposed here or there when he wasn't struggling with other aspects of our life together... Finally we agreed. A live tree, no more than three feet tall, no ornaments, one strand of lights-- white lights only. He'd help me carry it into the house no sooner than the 23rd of December, and it had to be planted in the back yard no later than December 29th. It had to be under $25... And I couldn't mention Christmas or trees at all for the month between now and then. Certainly not on his birthday!
But it was a TREE! Something to reflect the seasonal glory I feel every time the Earth cleans her slate to begin anew. Something to connect our home with the homes of other families throughout the community to which I so desperately wanted to belong. Something friendly and healthy and clean in our married world. Something that wasn't a secret.
I laugh now to remember how he broke out in hives wherever the needles of that feathery little aromatic desert cedar pricked him. How angry he was when he finally planted it in January, and entered the sliding glass door on our little almost-A-frame house, strangling the earth beneath his feet with every twist of those mud-glazed black boots. Arms covered in little red welts. Of course, it wasn't funny at the time-- it was my fault, this crawling pain he felt in waves across his skin. My fault that he was allergic to Christmas. To the only tree on the lot I could find that was more than a seedling and less than $25, two days before Christmas.
I guess life is full of little victories like this. I guess it's hard to admit that I was part of the problem, too, but I know now that I was. I didn't hold him accountable for his choices, didn't put up boundaries between his problems and mine. I just checked to be sure the shovel was no longer in his hands, and then went forward to apologize for the tree, and offer what comforts I could to the places where his skin was broken and angry. After all, they were only little scratches on the surface, nothing deeper than that. They could be soothed, and given time, they would mend. Right?
The F.R.G. meets once a month on post, and the women who attend speak of seemingly innocent things between items of business on the agenda. Officers to officers, enlisted to enlisted, sergeants' wives straddling the emptiness between. The Captain's wife leads the meeting, and reports back to the General's wife, who also sometimes attends. They say a wife has no rank... I understand how easy it is to lie with integrity.
"Oh, yes-- we're putting our decorations up a little closer to Christmas," I tell them. "You know, we usually get a live tree, and we want it to survive the move back outside..." I no longer remember what "truth" I told about the total dearth of Christmas spirit in our home the first winter of our married life... Probably the same thing I said about the fact that he hated roses, cats, the color pink, home improvement shows on TV, and the time I spent talking with old friends on the phone-- that there were more important things in life than what kind of flowers I got on my birthday.
Some pieces of the people you spend your energy on get stuck in your psyche... The way the trapezius muscle rested under sun-spotted skin with a certain luscious convex curve that's missing on other men, the elephant stench of the bathroom after he ate ice cream or cheese, that tightness around his nostrils that said he was hiding something again-- something that was, in his words, "easier to ask forgiveness than permission" for having done. The sweet smell of the cologne he wore before we were married.
I remember the first week we lived together in the house I found. It was November, maybe December. We'd been married for six months, engaged for three years before that, and now finally, we could be alone together in our own space. We'd bought our own home, weathered our wedding on the coast, his four months of Training in Kentucky, my car accident in St. Louis. Things were finally going to be better for both of us.
I remember looking around at the end of that first week, noting the week's worth of discarded socks, scattered like so many crumpled gold-toed snowballs around our new king-sized bed. His OD green bath towel from our wedding, still so wet from yesterday's 5am shower that it dripped as I gingerly carried it the last two feet from the carpeted floor to the hamper in the corner.
I remember the moment I finally understood that the slovenly disregard he'd shown every hotel room, every quaint B&B of our courtship-- it was how he treated all the objects in his life. That my carefully hoarded life treasures would get no better treatment from him. That one more of my "it'll be better when" dreams was not coming true as planned.
And that knowledge sits in my psyche, making me cold and withdrawn around men with similar strengths and propensities. Men with birthdays in December, and allergies to milk. Men who wear that particular cologne. Now that my life is under my direction, it is like skulking around a sanitarium after dark to return to these memories, these rules, these smells and most of all, these complex truths. I am haunted by the ghosts of Christmases past.
I am no longer willing to give up the celebrations of my life. I am uncomfortable knowing that I did give them up-- many times, and to many people. Uncomfortable knowing how easy it always was to find a reason to stay behind, helping someone else’s dreams come true. The good little Wife, supporting my husband's career, depending on him for security and friendship and even identity at times. Learning to celebrate the small things, learning what it takes to survive in a world where soldiers are treated like machines, with no control over their lives and no way to guess at their future. Learning not to plan too far ahead, as a buffer to disappointment. Living in a community where belonging and blending in is everything, and you-- the wife-- can never be a priority. You have no rank, remember?
Before I ever met him, he hated Christmas. Hated it for the same reason he hated his birthday-- they were too close together. They were fake. The attention wasn't really on him, and the gifts for the two were often combined into one bigger gift-- It made him bitter to be so short-changed. Isn't that strange?
It was a victory-- the buzz of war’s end and the fear-stench of D-day rolled into one-- the first time I brought a Christmas Tree into our house. Not our first year there, but our second. Such a little thing, a tree.
We negotiated back and forth, just a suggestion gently interposed here or there when he wasn't struggling with other aspects of our life together... Finally we agreed. A live tree, no more than three feet tall, no ornaments, one strand of lights-- white lights only. He'd help me carry it into the house no sooner than the 23rd of December, and it had to be planted in the back yard no later than December 29th. It had to be under $25... And I couldn't mention Christmas or trees at all for the month between now and then. Certainly not on his birthday!
But it was a TREE! Something to reflect the seasonal glory I feel every time the Earth cleans her slate to begin anew. Something to connect our home with the homes of other families throughout the community to which I so desperately wanted to belong. Something friendly and healthy and clean in our married world. Something that wasn't a secret.
I laugh now to remember how he broke out in hives wherever the needles of that feathery little aromatic desert cedar pricked him. How angry he was when he finally planted it in January, and entered the sliding glass door on our little almost-A-frame house, strangling the earth beneath his feet with every twist of those mud-glazed black boots. Arms covered in little red welts. Of course, it wasn't funny at the time-- it was my fault, this crawling pain he felt in waves across his skin. My fault that he was allergic to Christmas. To the only tree on the lot I could find that was more than a seedling and less than $25, two days before Christmas.
I guess life is full of little victories like this. I guess it's hard to admit that I was part of the problem, too, but I know now that I was. I didn't hold him accountable for his choices, didn't put up boundaries between his problems and mine. I just checked to be sure the shovel was no longer in his hands, and then went forward to apologize for the tree, and offer what comforts I could to the places where his skin was broken and angry. After all, they were only little scratches on the surface, nothing deeper than that. They could be soothed, and given time, they would mend. Right?
The F.R.G. meets once a month on post, and the women who attend speak of seemingly innocent things between items of business on the agenda. Officers to officers, enlisted to enlisted, sergeants' wives straddling the emptiness between. The Captain's wife leads the meeting, and reports back to the General's wife, who also sometimes attends. They say a wife has no rank... I understand how easy it is to lie with integrity.
"Oh, yes-- we're putting our decorations up a little closer to Christmas," I tell them. "You know, we usually get a live tree, and we want it to survive the move back outside..." I no longer remember what "truth" I told about the total dearth of Christmas spirit in our home the first winter of our married life... Probably the same thing I said about the fact that he hated roses, cats, the color pink, home improvement shows on TV, and the time I spent talking with old friends on the phone-- that there were more important things in life than what kind of flowers I got on my birthday.
Some pieces of the people you spend your energy on get stuck in your psyche... The way the trapezius muscle rested under sun-spotted skin with a certain luscious convex curve that's missing on other men, the elephant stench of the bathroom after he ate ice cream or cheese, that tightness around his nostrils that said he was hiding something again-- something that was, in his words, "easier to ask forgiveness than permission" for having done. The sweet smell of the cologne he wore before we were married.
I remember the first week we lived together in the house I found. It was November, maybe December. We'd been married for six months, engaged for three years before that, and now finally, we could be alone together in our own space. We'd bought our own home, weathered our wedding on the coast, his four months of Training in Kentucky, my car accident in St. Louis. Things were finally going to be better for both of us.
I remember looking around at the end of that first week, noting the week's worth of discarded socks, scattered like so many crumpled gold-toed snowballs around our new king-sized bed. His OD green bath towel from our wedding, still so wet from yesterday's 5am shower that it dripped as I gingerly carried it the last two feet from the carpeted floor to the hamper in the corner.
I remember the moment I finally understood that the slovenly disregard he'd shown every hotel room, every quaint B&B of our courtship-- it was how he treated all the objects in his life. That my carefully hoarded life treasures would get no better treatment from him. That one more of my "it'll be better when" dreams was not coming true as planned.
And that knowledge sits in my psyche, making me cold and withdrawn around men with similar strengths and propensities. Men with birthdays in December, and allergies to milk. Men who wear that particular cologne. Now that my life is under my direction, it is like skulking around a sanitarium after dark to return to these memories, these rules, these smells and most of all, these complex truths. I am haunted by the ghosts of Christmases past.
I am no longer willing to give up the celebrations of my life. I am uncomfortable knowing that I did give them up-- many times, and to many people. Uncomfortable knowing how easy it always was to find a reason to stay behind, helping someone else’s dreams come true. The good little Wife, supporting my husband's career, depending on him for security and friendship and even identity at times. Learning to celebrate the small things, learning what it takes to survive in a world where soldiers are treated like machines, with no control over their lives and no way to guess at their future. Learning not to plan too far ahead, as a buffer to disappointment. Living in a community where belonging and blending in is everything, and you-- the wife-- can never be a priority. You have no rank, remember?
Guiding Cats
Have you seen the Engineer's Guide to Cats?? YOU MUST SEE IT!!!
NOW!!!
In other news, Bubba has discovered a passion for spinach, and I have discovered Bubba's passion for bread. Heretofore, the carbaholism of this particular cat was only darkly eluded to by his owner. Now, it's a startling reality in the form of several missing hunks of plastic, paper, and the french bread underneath. This same cat was responsible for tearing a hole in a camping bag to get at a baggie full of condensed milk a couple of months back.
Then there was Sushi, who had a distinctly vampiric interest in pumpkin pie. We would occasionally find random fang marks in ours, if left out overnight to cool. Abbigale's preference is for paper bags, veggie-dyed ribbon, and inedible plants. In that order.
And-- did I tell you of my discovery that there is an actual life form that looks similar to clams, and whose shells can grow to weigh 50 lbs if they are not harvested first??!! HUMONGOUS GIANT CLAMS!!! RIGHT HERE IN OUR OWN COASTAL WATERS OF AMERICA!!!
Also, my clientelle continues to expand, for which I am extremely grateful. And, just in case I didn't have enough to do with my time, I've started writing out bits of my past life again (the Girlfriend's Guide, etc)... It's an interesting process, and probably more theraputic than anything else. I've even joined a group of other writers who meet fairly regularly to share their latest few pages of writing. They definitely bring much-needed perspective to my experiences. For example, they stopped me in the middle of my reading last week to ascertain whether or not I had made up the word "plebe." No. They actually call them that. And No. I have NO IDEA WHY!! But yes-- now that you point it out-- that really does sound ridiculous.
Speaking of cats and ridiculousness, I woke to an interesting and repetitious noise in my bedroom somewhere after midnight and before dawn. I finally figured out that Abbigale was rolling around on the still-plastic-encased bed pillow I had just purchased at BigLots and left on the floor by my bed; Scaper was scratching his very business-like claws on the cat-scratch-post in my bedroom, and Bubba was eating from the food dish in the corner. Loudly.
I carefully and gently escorted each of them out of the bedroom, one at a fuzzy time, so that I could get a few more hours' sleep before the sun came up. They were NOT pleased with me. But that's okay. Cats are definitely the know-it-alls of the animal kingdom.
NOW!!!
In other news, Bubba has discovered a passion for spinach, and I have discovered Bubba's passion for bread. Heretofore, the carbaholism of this particular cat was only darkly eluded to by his owner. Now, it's a startling reality in the form of several missing hunks of plastic, paper, and the french bread underneath. This same cat was responsible for tearing a hole in a camping bag to get at a baggie full of condensed milk a couple of months back.
Then there was Sushi, who had a distinctly vampiric interest in pumpkin pie. We would occasionally find random fang marks in ours, if left out overnight to cool. Abbigale's preference is for paper bags, veggie-dyed ribbon, and inedible plants. In that order.
And-- did I tell you of my discovery that there is an actual life form that looks similar to clams, and whose shells can grow to weigh 50 lbs if they are not harvested first??!! HUMONGOUS GIANT CLAMS!!! RIGHT HERE IN OUR OWN COASTAL WATERS OF AMERICA!!!
Also, my clientelle continues to expand, for which I am extremely grateful. And, just in case I didn't have enough to do with my time, I've started writing out bits of my past life again (the Girlfriend's Guide, etc)... It's an interesting process, and probably more theraputic than anything else. I've even joined a group of other writers who meet fairly regularly to share their latest few pages of writing. They definitely bring much-needed perspective to my experiences. For example, they stopped me in the middle of my reading last week to ascertain whether or not I had made up the word "plebe." No. They actually call them that. And No. I have NO IDEA WHY!! But yes-- now that you point it out-- that really does sound ridiculous.
Speaking of cats and ridiculousness, I woke to an interesting and repetitious noise in my bedroom somewhere after midnight and before dawn. I finally figured out that Abbigale was rolling around on the still-plastic-encased bed pillow I had just purchased at BigLots and left on the floor by my bed; Scaper was scratching his very business-like claws on the cat-scratch-post in my bedroom, and Bubba was eating from the food dish in the corner. Loudly.
I carefully and gently escorted each of them out of the bedroom, one at a fuzzy time, so that I could get a few more hours' sleep before the sun came up. They were NOT pleased with me. But that's okay. Cats are definitely the know-it-alls of the animal kingdom.
Sunday, September 7
Heart-Friends
When we were little (especially if we were little in the '50's), we often immortalized our friendships by carving everybody's initials with a heart between-- S.B. -heart- R.O. or I heart Johnny, for example. It was a way of saying we loved someone-- they were a friend of our hearts. It was a hope that we would always have that loving connection in our life.
I have just returned from a retreat. I went there with a friend, I came back from there with many friends. Friends of my heart. It was a very intense process, and yet also very restful. I learned so much from the lessons that others shared with me while I was there-- and I was also able to facilitate the learning of others.
Our blood relatives and our "parents" are often chosen by biology or by someone else's decisions about marriage or responsibility. As children, we rarely have the opportunity to choose our family. Many of us are lucky. We have a parent, or maybe two, who really love us and wish the best for us and work hard to help us grow. Many of us cope instead with adults who hurt us, or who are hurt. As we mature, regardless of what came before, we learn to find folks we can trust outside of our original family.
Often, these people begin as friends, and then we realize that our bond is deeper than mere friendship. We share a connection that is truly special, truly magical. These people become our chosen family-- our "spiritual family," if you will. The folks who love us and who we love as if they have always been a part of our lives, as if they always will be. Understanding that we can create a support network that is stronger (and often stranger) than the family we were born into brings a special kind of freedom with it.
I deeply enjoyed the friendships and experiences of this past weekend. I look forward to our next meeting, whether at an organized retreat or at a local coffee shop. And I know that just because I don't hear from someone I really felt a moment of connection with-- it doesn't mean that I can't appreciate what that moment held. The time I spend with these special people is carved into my heart. Each meeting is a gift, and all the distance in between visits can never take that gift away from me.
As the old saying goes: Merry Meet, Merry Part, and Merry Meet Again.
I have just returned from a retreat. I went there with a friend, I came back from there with many friends. Friends of my heart. It was a very intense process, and yet also very restful. I learned so much from the lessons that others shared with me while I was there-- and I was also able to facilitate the learning of others.
Our blood relatives and our "parents" are often chosen by biology or by someone else's decisions about marriage or responsibility. As children, we rarely have the opportunity to choose our family. Many of us are lucky. We have a parent, or maybe two, who really love us and wish the best for us and work hard to help us grow. Many of us cope instead with adults who hurt us, or who are hurt. As we mature, regardless of what came before, we learn to find folks we can trust outside of our original family.
Often, these people begin as friends, and then we realize that our bond is deeper than mere friendship. We share a connection that is truly special, truly magical. These people become our chosen family-- our "spiritual family," if you will. The folks who love us and who we love as if they have always been a part of our lives, as if they always will be. Understanding that we can create a support network that is stronger (and often stranger) than the family we were born into brings a special kind of freedom with it.
I deeply enjoyed the friendships and experiences of this past weekend. I look forward to our next meeting, whether at an organized retreat or at a local coffee shop. And I know that just because I don't hear from someone I really felt a moment of connection with-- it doesn't mean that I can't appreciate what that moment held. The time I spend with these special people is carved into my heart. Each meeting is a gift, and all the distance in between visits can never take that gift away from me.
As the old saying goes: Merry Meet, Merry Part, and Merry Meet Again.
Monday, August 25
ReconFiguring
I just love when I come up with a catchy title!!
Had an appointment to go play this morning-- wanted to have a good handle on where I'm at and how I feel about it before I went. About once every two months, I get together with the kids I used to nanny, and their mom, for a morning of activities that really take two attentive adults to pull off. This time, it was a HUGE PLAY STRUCTURE FORT THING with about six slides, lots of twisty turns, climbing opportunities, ropes, tunnels, ladders, HOLY CRAP this thing was cool!! OH-- and a nice swing set on the side. With two children under the age of four, you really do need an adult for each of them. Just to make sure they do okay on the stairs.
Mom always asks how my life is. Great people-- and I love catching up with the whole family whenever we can coordinate our schedules. But there it is. I chose to stop working for them. Eight months ago when I really put my job search into high gear. How is my life doing, now, really??
So I thought through it. I realized that if I'd actually gotten any of those distant library jobs, I would never have met the awesome group of folks who make up my primary social network just now. I would never have gotten into acupuncture (or... I don't THINK I would have...) and started healing my old neck injury. I would never have (again-- speculation) realized just how gifted a listener I can sometimes be... or turned it into my own business practice. I really thought I'd have to wait a few decades to put that aspiration into practice. BUT HERE I AM!!! And the biggest "oh. Hey!" of all? I would not still be around to recognize and cope with certain nameless family illnesses.
With all that in mind, I'm really glad that things have worked out the way they did. Granted, I'd now like to get a reliable source of income... but the awesome thing is that my perspective and knowledge of what that job might look like has expanded considerably, just in the last month. It may even be possible that more than one job exists out there that would benefit from MANY different aspects of my life experience, education, and training to date. And some of those jobs actually pay enough that I could live far far away, and fly home five or six times a year, without hocking my cat for collateral on a loan. I've been doing a bit of recon on that one...
Take Account Coordinating, for example. Here's a general job description:
Coordinates new and existing accounts, focusing on client satisfaction, revenue optimization, and account growth. Communicates with clients on a regular basis, providing support, marketing ideas, product updates, and reporting. Organizes advertising and coordinates scheduling and promotions to ensure client satisfaction and project completion. Assists Account Executives in maintaining and nurturing client relationships.
Supports account team in daily program management activities, such as media tracking, list building, Internet research, copy editing, crafting materials, coordinating scheduling and promotions, conducting pitch calls, developing data bases, implementing strategies and research projects, coordinating mailings, assembling press packets, training kits or other materials, and general office and client support. Participates in internal client brainstorming sessions by offering ideas for each project.
Makes recommendations to project lead on how to improve a project. Collaborates with project/team lead to effectively complete scope of work so that it is top quality but also within the terms of the contract. Assists in managing vendor relationships to ensure deliverables are produced accurately, on time, and within budget. Provides research, data consolidation, and recommendation development used to create internal reports, process documents, and/or industry trend reporting.
Serves as a liaison for the account team to marketing team members and the Corporate Communications Department for the dissemination of information. Executes strategies through writing, editing, proofreading, desktop publishing, and web content. Schedules client meetings and teleconferences for team and helps prepare materials for them. Coordinates event logistics. Represents organization at industry or skill specific meetings or conferences. Crafts audits that can be included in communications plans. Creates work plans, and meets project deadlines as set by team lead. Provides administrative support when necessary.
Now, take this description, and apply it to a company that promotes educational tools to schools, teachers, and students-- kindergarten through college. Does that NOT just put together every job I (or my entire extended family) have ever held, and allow me to do ALL the things I do best-- AT THE SAME TIME?! Even better, the low end of the pay scale starts at $50,000-- plus benefits. SHIT!!! Did they x-ray my LIFE before they wrote that or WHAT?!
Anyway, I'm excited that such a position exists, and that people who attain it are clearly appreciated for their contribution to the success of the team as a whole. THAT appeals to me. And, maybe, I'd be able to take enough time off to come home at regular intervals. To be and do here what I feel I must. To get hugs, get caught up, get fed, and stay in touch with all the wonderful people and places that I've come to love so well in the past eight months.
So far, when I finally got OUT of the hard times in my life, I realized that I'd gained in both opportunities and awarenesses-- parts of me that I would never have needed to uncover if life had been as easy as I'd hoped. With this new possibility (among others) on the horizon, it's easy to figure that maybe there's a beautiful silver lining to this "not-quite-employed" cloud I've been under for so long.
I'll keep you posted.
Had an appointment to go play this morning-- wanted to have a good handle on where I'm at and how I feel about it before I went. About once every two months, I get together with the kids I used to nanny, and their mom, for a morning of activities that really take two attentive adults to pull off. This time, it was a HUGE PLAY STRUCTURE FORT THING with about six slides, lots of twisty turns, climbing opportunities, ropes, tunnels, ladders, HOLY CRAP this thing was cool!! OH-- and a nice swing set on the side. With two children under the age of four, you really do need an adult for each of them. Just to make sure they do okay on the stairs.
Mom always asks how my life is. Great people-- and I love catching up with the whole family whenever we can coordinate our schedules. But there it is. I chose to stop working for them. Eight months ago when I really put my job search into high gear. How is my life doing, now, really??
So I thought through it. I realized that if I'd actually gotten any of those distant library jobs, I would never have met the awesome group of folks who make up my primary social network just now. I would never have gotten into acupuncture (or... I don't THINK I would have...) and started healing my old neck injury. I would never have (again-- speculation) realized just how gifted a listener I can sometimes be... or turned it into my own business practice. I really thought I'd have to wait a few decades to put that aspiration into practice. BUT HERE I AM!!! And the biggest "oh. Hey!" of all? I would not still be around to recognize and cope with certain nameless family illnesses.
With all that in mind, I'm really glad that things have worked out the way they did. Granted, I'd now like to get a reliable source of income... but the awesome thing is that my perspective and knowledge of what that job might look like has expanded considerably, just in the last month. It may even be possible that more than one job exists out there that would benefit from MANY different aspects of my life experience, education, and training to date. And some of those jobs actually pay enough that I could live far far away, and fly home five or six times a year, without hocking my cat for collateral on a loan. I've been doing a bit of recon on that one...
Take Account Coordinating, for example. Here's a general job description:
Coordinates new and existing accounts, focusing on client satisfaction, revenue optimization, and account growth. Communicates with clients on a regular basis, providing support, marketing ideas, product updates, and reporting. Organizes advertising and coordinates scheduling and promotions to ensure client satisfaction and project completion. Assists Account Executives in maintaining and nurturing client relationships.
Supports account team in daily program management activities, such as media tracking, list building, Internet research, copy editing, crafting materials, coordinating scheduling and promotions, conducting pitch calls, developing data bases, implementing strategies and research projects, coordinating mailings, assembling press packets, training kits or other materials, and general office and client support. Participates in internal client brainstorming sessions by offering ideas for each project.
Makes recommendations to project lead on how to improve a project. Collaborates with project/team lead to effectively complete scope of work so that it is top quality but also within the terms of the contract. Assists in managing vendor relationships to ensure deliverables are produced accurately, on time, and within budget. Provides research, data consolidation, and recommendation development used to create internal reports, process documents, and/or industry trend reporting.
Serves as a liaison for the account team to marketing team members and the Corporate Communications Department for the dissemination of information. Executes strategies through writing, editing, proofreading, desktop publishing, and web content. Schedules client meetings and teleconferences for team and helps prepare materials for them. Coordinates event logistics. Represents organization at industry or skill specific meetings or conferences. Crafts audits that can be included in communications plans. Creates work plans, and meets project deadlines as set by team lead. Provides administrative support when necessary.
Now, take this description, and apply it to a company that promotes educational tools to schools, teachers, and students-- kindergarten through college. Does that NOT just put together every job I (or my entire extended family) have ever held, and allow me to do ALL the things I do best-- AT THE SAME TIME?! Even better, the low end of the pay scale starts at $50,000-- plus benefits. SHIT!!! Did they x-ray my LIFE before they wrote that or WHAT?!
Anyway, I'm excited that such a position exists, and that people who attain it are clearly appreciated for their contribution to the success of the team as a whole. THAT appeals to me. And, maybe, I'd be able to take enough time off to come home at regular intervals. To be and do here what I feel I must. To get hugs, get caught up, get fed, and stay in touch with all the wonderful people and places that I've come to love so well in the past eight months.
So far, when I finally got OUT of the hard times in my life, I realized that I'd gained in both opportunities and awarenesses-- parts of me that I would never have needed to uncover if life had been as easy as I'd hoped. With this new possibility (among others) on the horizon, it's easy to figure that maybe there's a beautiful silver lining to this "not-quite-employed" cloud I've been under for so long.
I'll keep you posted.
Wednesday, August 20
WeManiac
So... have I told you that I actually have something like EIGHT FRIGGIN BLOGS attached to me? Plus the one on that one website for professional librarians? EIGHT.
And... well... actually, I only maintain about three of them-- plus that one that isn't REALLY mine, but I still have to write intelligent things for it at least once or twice a week. (And by the way, I've been reading Crazy Aunt Purl again lately, and got all inspired-y... which can actually be a bit dangerous, if you have even the slightest clue what exactly it is that I'm being inspired by!)
Even more exciting, I finally was able to attach my blog (no, the other one) to my website-- AND the website is itself somewhat updated. It took me two days of hard work to get it there, but I now feel that it can go be all by itself on the web again. YAY!!! And-- I've printed out two more versions of what may eventually be my final business card design. This whole "start your own business" thing takes a lot of trial and error, it seems! Maybe "flexibility" is the term I'm searching for here...
Even better, I have an OFFICE to see CLIENTS in-- on Tuesdays through Thursdays, that is. And once I get myself up to at least 8 clients a week, I can start looking for that perfect apartment with a front room that might be PERFECT for seeing clients from THERE! Or renegotiate for different office hours or spaces or something. And when I hit 15 clients a week, I'm raising my rates in the hope that soon I can buy an actual piece of land and start making plans to build a house/studio on it. I may also begin to revise my work/business strategy when I get to that point. Although, really, it's part of the strategy to keep revising it as I learn what works better for both myself and my clients (and my self-promotion efforts).
So I'm keeping up on the blog for library world (I am now free, they gave me my last paycheck for that in July and asked me to keep writing anyway), the blog for my business, this blog, and maybe one or two others that I write in from time to time... That's a lot of writing. No. Actually, that's a lot of PROOF READING!!
In the meantime, I just wanted to let you know that if I personally gave you the web address for this blog (ie: you are a close friend or family)... and you know what my new business is, you get special reduced rates for my professional services should you ever wish to request them. Just thought you'd like to know. =)
And... well... actually, I only maintain about three of them-- plus that one that isn't REALLY mine, but I still have to write intelligent things for it at least once or twice a week. (And by the way, I've been reading Crazy Aunt Purl again lately, and got all inspired-y... which can actually be a bit dangerous, if you have even the slightest clue what exactly it is that I'm being inspired by!)
Even more exciting, I finally was able to attach my blog (no, the other one) to my website-- AND the website is itself somewhat updated. It took me two days of hard work to get it there, but I now feel that it can go be all by itself on the web again. YAY!!! And-- I've printed out two more versions of what may eventually be my final business card design. This whole "start your own business" thing takes a lot of trial and error, it seems! Maybe "flexibility" is the term I'm searching for here...
Even better, I have an OFFICE to see CLIENTS in-- on Tuesdays through Thursdays, that is. And once I get myself up to at least 8 clients a week, I can start looking for that perfect apartment with a front room that might be PERFECT for seeing clients from THERE! Or renegotiate for different office hours or spaces or something. And when I hit 15 clients a week, I'm raising my rates in the hope that soon I can buy an actual piece of land and start making plans to build a house/studio on it. I may also begin to revise my work/business strategy when I get to that point. Although, really, it's part of the strategy to keep revising it as I learn what works better for both myself and my clients (and my self-promotion efforts).
So I'm keeping up on the blog for library world (I am now free, they gave me my last paycheck for that in July and asked me to keep writing anyway), the blog for my business, this blog, and maybe one or two others that I write in from time to time... That's a lot of writing. No. Actually, that's a lot of PROOF READING!!
In the meantime, I just wanted to let you know that if I personally gave you the web address for this blog (ie: you are a close friend or family)... and you know what my new business is, you get special reduced rates for my professional services should you ever wish to request them. Just thought you'd like to know. =)
Monday, August 11
Post Non Gratta
I'm having some difficulties. I wish they were technical, but they're not.
I'd just like to clarify that if anybody ever has a concern about something I've published in this blog that might refer to them, or that clearly does refer to them-- I will honor that by removing the section in which they are mentioned. We each navigate life, and the internet, as best we can.
Thank you.
I'd just like to clarify that if anybody ever has a concern about something I've published in this blog that might refer to them, or that clearly does refer to them-- I will honor that by removing the section in which they are mentioned. We each navigate life, and the internet, as best we can.
Thank you.
Wednesday, August 6
Travel Guide
I'm told that the Answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42. And that it'll take another million years to figure out what the Question actually was. And that first book really did have some great advice for travelers. A towel really is a comforting thing to have along-- and it can be put to any number of important uses. A good towel is worth a lot of money, and the time it takes you to pack and repack until it fits into your suitcase is always well-spent, according to the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
It gives you a tangible reminder of home. It can be used to dry off, shade from the heat, wrap up from the cold, sit on, sit under, thwhack annoying teens with, brush off dirt and sand, clean your hands of any number of other undesirable substances, make you look like you know what you're doing and where you're going, etc etc etc...
But that's just not the kind of travel I'm doing. And while I'd really like to feel comfortable, well-grounded, prepared, and at home during this particular stretch of my personal journey... somehow I don't think a towel is going to cut it. I think really what I need is a compass, and a better job market. And maybe just a little more self-confidence and courage as well.
Especially if I'm really going to make Life Coaching into a full-time profession. Because my clientelle in THAT sector continues to grow little by little... and because I continue to look forward to interviewing for positions as a librarian, and even getting HIRED to WORK as a librarian... but it hasn't happened yet. It's been many months since I even had an interview in that arena.
So... what do I need to do to grow into a self-sustaining business model for life coaching? well, I need to identify the markets I want to pursue. I need to find a space to hold sessions. I need to write up a business plan, including scripting for difficult situations, for self-marketing, and so on. I need to settle on AND MAINTAIN a system for retaining data about my business finances, data about my clients, data of contact info, data for my network as it grows, data about where and how and how much I promote my services... and data about how the clients I do see find me. I need to post more regularly to my "self-help" blog-- and tell my clients about it. I need to print out a HELL of a lot more business cards and informational pamphlets, too, and join some groups where I'm the only (or the first, or SOMETHING) personal life coach in the group... And I need to locate my coaching resources and make them available to my practice-- get them out of those darn storage boxes and bins and piles on the other side of town.
Mostly, I need to clean up my personal space, and get some sort of healthy schedule to my life so that when opportunity DOES knock-- in whatever form it takes-- I'm ready. I intend to come from (and return to) a place that is clean, that is friendly and inviting, that is somewhat organized, and that I can be proud to say represents me and how I exist in the world. And that goes for both my physical home and my mental/spiritual space as well. I want to see my best self so that I can dwell on that, and put my best foot forward into the world for others to see.
Nobody prepares you for this stuff, growing up. Nobody tells you that it's probably going to be a while before you really get to where you want to be. That whatever it is you just spent a whole lot of time training for, and went into serious debt to become, is probably NOT what you'll actually get to DO in your lifetime. Nobody teaches you healthy ways to cope with and overcome all the daily and extreme situational stress that is part of an adult's decision-making process. And nobody explains WHY a sense of humor and a positive outlook are so important to finding personal happiness and success.
As my bff SLM recently said, THIS ISN'T COVERED IN THE MANUAL!!! It's true that as you get to be an adult, you gain access to a much wider variety of choices. But it's also true that the repercussions of those choices also become much bigger... and that often the choices we have in a given situation are not the ones we expect-- or even want. Hmmm... I COULD spend my free afternoon doing yardwork in the middle of a 100* heat wave... or I could stay inside where it's cool, drinking ice tea and catching up on the last three months of business news and new tech tools for my profession-- and risk getting a fine and a notice from the local HOA. Or I could just say "freck it all!" and risk both being obsolete and work AND getting into trouble at home-- to go spend the afternoon hiking around cool and beautiful waterfalls with a good friend I haven't seen in months. Hmmm...
Maybe 42 is how old you have to be for all the pieces of your life to finally start fitting together. I wouldn't know. I'm about to turn 3o. And while I have figured out what sorts of things I want to do with my life, and how I personally define "Abundance," and how a budget works, and what it means to take personal responsibility for my choices and actions... I haven't figured out how to fit all of those things together into Abundant Living-- and I'm still searching for that first job on the road to my professional career. I am still searching for financial independence.
I've just started my first Yoga class. Sure, I occasionally went to yoga with my mom, but those are HER yoga classes, and I usually ended up overdoing and being in pain and not going back. This is my first Yoga class for and about me. It's an opportunity to work on my flexibility and muscle tone, to work on my physical health and my mental focus, my balance, my range of motion, etc etc... but it's also an opportunity for me to work on grounding and centering myself. I would dearly like to feel more grounded and centered. And I know yoga will help me with that so far as mental discipline goes. ...But it has also clarified for me that being grounded in my life is yet another animal, and one that I've made great leaps of progress toward, without yet reaching. This is not a good time to be unemployed.
It gives you a tangible reminder of home. It can be used to dry off, shade from the heat, wrap up from the cold, sit on, sit under, thwhack annoying teens with, brush off dirt and sand, clean your hands of any number of other undesirable substances, make you look like you know what you're doing and where you're going, etc etc etc...
But that's just not the kind of travel I'm doing. And while I'd really like to feel comfortable, well-grounded, prepared, and at home during this particular stretch of my personal journey... somehow I don't think a towel is going to cut it. I think really what I need is a compass, and a better job market. And maybe just a little more self-confidence and courage as well.
Especially if I'm really going to make Life Coaching into a full-time profession. Because my clientelle in THAT sector continues to grow little by little... and because I continue to look forward to interviewing for positions as a librarian, and even getting HIRED to WORK as a librarian... but it hasn't happened yet. It's been many months since I even had an interview in that arena.
So... what do I need to do to grow into a self-sustaining business model for life coaching? well, I need to identify the markets I want to pursue. I need to find a space to hold sessions. I need to write up a business plan, including scripting for difficult situations, for self-marketing, and so on. I need to settle on AND MAINTAIN a system for retaining data about my business finances, data about my clients, data of contact info, data for my network as it grows, data about where and how and how much I promote my services... and data about how the clients I do see find me. I need to post more regularly to my "self-help" blog-- and tell my clients about it. I need to print out a HELL of a lot more business cards and informational pamphlets, too, and join some groups where I'm the only (or the first, or SOMETHING) personal life coach in the group... And I need to locate my coaching resources and make them available to my practice-- get them out of those darn storage boxes and bins and piles on the other side of town.
Mostly, I need to clean up my personal space, and get some sort of healthy schedule to my life so that when opportunity DOES knock-- in whatever form it takes-- I'm ready. I intend to come from (and return to) a place that is clean, that is friendly and inviting, that is somewhat organized, and that I can be proud to say represents me and how I exist in the world. And that goes for both my physical home and my mental/spiritual space as well. I want to see my best self so that I can dwell on that, and put my best foot forward into the world for others to see.
Nobody prepares you for this stuff, growing up. Nobody tells you that it's probably going to be a while before you really get to where you want to be. That whatever it is you just spent a whole lot of time training for, and went into serious debt to become, is probably NOT what you'll actually get to DO in your lifetime. Nobody teaches you healthy ways to cope with and overcome all the daily and extreme situational stress that is part of an adult's decision-making process. And nobody explains WHY a sense of humor and a positive outlook are so important to finding personal happiness and success.
As my bff SLM recently said, THIS ISN'T COVERED IN THE MANUAL!!! It's true that as you get to be an adult, you gain access to a much wider variety of choices. But it's also true that the repercussions of those choices also become much bigger... and that often the choices we have in a given situation are not the ones we expect-- or even want. Hmmm... I COULD spend my free afternoon doing yardwork in the middle of a 100* heat wave... or I could stay inside where it's cool, drinking ice tea and catching up on the last three months of business news and new tech tools for my profession-- and risk getting a fine and a notice from the local HOA. Or I could just say "freck it all!" and risk both being obsolete and work AND getting into trouble at home-- to go spend the afternoon hiking around cool and beautiful waterfalls with a good friend I haven't seen in months. Hmmm...
Maybe 42 is how old you have to be for all the pieces of your life to finally start fitting together. I wouldn't know. I'm about to turn 3o. And while I have figured out what sorts of things I want to do with my life, and how I personally define "Abundance," and how a budget works, and what it means to take personal responsibility for my choices and actions... I haven't figured out how to fit all of those things together into Abundant Living-- and I'm still searching for that first job on the road to my professional career. I am still searching for financial independence.
I've just started my first Yoga class. Sure, I occasionally went to yoga with my mom, but those are HER yoga classes, and I usually ended up overdoing and being in pain and not going back. This is my first Yoga class for and about me. It's an opportunity to work on my flexibility and muscle tone, to work on my physical health and my mental focus, my balance, my range of motion, etc etc... but it's also an opportunity for me to work on grounding and centering myself. I would dearly like to feel more grounded and centered. And I know yoga will help me with that so far as mental discipline goes. ...But it has also clarified for me that being grounded in my life is yet another animal, and one that I've made great leaps of progress toward, without yet reaching. This is not a good time to be unemployed.
Thursday, July 31
SHHHHH
So I'm reading this book called "Stupid History," and I'm actually enjoying it. Partly, this is because all these weird bits of history that we all remember (like Paul Revere's ride to warn everyone that the British were coming)... is, according to this author guy-- and I did find the book in the nonfiction section of the library-- FALSE!!! There were, apparently, THREE men who rode out to warn everyone that the troops were coming along behind-- but those pesky Brits caught up with them. One man fled back home. One (Revere) got captured and thrown in jail overnight, without ever reporting anything to anyone, and the third man is the guy who actually did get away and ride through the town of Concord, I think it was, and yell warning. For whatever good it did everybody anyway.
The other reason I'm enjoying the book is that each story is about half a page long. And that is about all the attention span I have at the moment. Because, for the last two nights, my house mate has been out of town, and the natives have, as they say, been restless. First, Bubba clawed a hole in the new bag of cat food. Then, they all took turns hissing about who was allowed to be in the bedroom with me and who wasn't. A furry belly slinked past the top of my head at one point in the night, and I heard lots of loud cat-thumping sometime after 4am.
Cat-Thumping, by the way, is what happens when your cat suddenly gets that wild look in her eye, glares at a point up and to the left of your head, and then starts running like an insane and possessed beast up, down, around, across, back, over, around again, up, down, PAUSE... and then careens off to hide under the bed or go lick her butt in the kitchen or something. And while the cat does all this crazy running, her little 11 lbs of fuzz and claws makes about as much noise as a 200 lb man with army boots on-- only faster. Cat-thumping.
So, anyway, I'm a little tired tonight. I'm also prepared. First, I'm going to put Abbigale in the bedroom. Then, I'm going to lavish attention on the little grey monsters until they refuse to be in the same room with me anymore. Then I'm going to brush my teeth, and go to bed. I've also re-potted the cat food and cat treats from their flimsy plastic bags to specially purchased vacuum sealed heavy-duty glass containers. Even tho the containers are see-through, Bubba has walked by them TWICE now, trying to locate the food bag.
HAH! I leer in his general direction!!! And, hopefully, I also get some healthy sleep tonight. I'm really tired. Really.
The other reason I'm enjoying the book is that each story is about half a page long. And that is about all the attention span I have at the moment. Because, for the last two nights, my house mate has been out of town, and the natives have, as they say, been restless. First, Bubba clawed a hole in the new bag of cat food. Then, they all took turns hissing about who was allowed to be in the bedroom with me and who wasn't. A furry belly slinked past the top of my head at one point in the night, and I heard lots of loud cat-thumping sometime after 4am.
Cat-Thumping, by the way, is what happens when your cat suddenly gets that wild look in her eye, glares at a point up and to the left of your head, and then starts running like an insane and possessed beast up, down, around, across, back, over, around again, up, down, PAUSE... and then careens off to hide under the bed or go lick her butt in the kitchen or something. And while the cat does all this crazy running, her little 11 lbs of fuzz and claws makes about as much noise as a 200 lb man with army boots on-- only faster. Cat-thumping.
So, anyway, I'm a little tired tonight. I'm also prepared. First, I'm going to put Abbigale in the bedroom. Then, I'm going to lavish attention on the little grey monsters until they refuse to be in the same room with me anymore. Then I'm going to brush my teeth, and go to bed. I've also re-potted the cat food and cat treats from their flimsy plastic bags to specially purchased vacuum sealed heavy-duty glass containers. Even tho the containers are see-through, Bubba has walked by them TWICE now, trying to locate the food bag.
HAH! I leer in his general direction!!! And, hopefully, I also get some healthy sleep tonight. I'm really tired. Really.
Wednesday, July 30
Why Certainly?
p.s. CatMan proved yet again what a really quality person he is. We had our honest communication about my realization that I'd really like to be his friend... but I don't want to date him. And he was great about it. Really.
The Beginning:
Every once in a while, I get this feeling of certainty. I know that I just need to go here or do this-- and I'll get a very specific and much-desired result. I had that feeling when I decided to buy a CR-V about five years ago. I told my dad we just needed to go to this one town about 45 minutes away, and I'd like to stop in at XYZ Honda. At his insistence, I looked up other Honda dealers in town, and called all over the more local area in search of something good. Finally, dragging his feet and reeking of disbelief, he got into my "trade vehicle" and I drove us down to the XYZ Honda dealership. There were only two parking places in the lot-- and I chose the one next to the blue CR-V. It was for sale. On special. It was about a year old. It was perfect. And I got a really great deal on it. I had no doubts. This was the vehicle I was going to get, and I was going to get it on my terms. That's one example.
I haven't had this feeling often, but often enough to recognize it. An unshakable certainty-- a strength of purpose in my gut and my heart. The feeling has been building over the past day or two. Something good is coming. And I know the job I'm planning to get is right around the corner. What I don't know is if it's one I've already applied for, or one I just saw and need to apply for NOW, or one I'll find in the next few days. Usually, my path is a little clearer than this... or at least, I keep putting one steady foot in front of the other, and I arrive at the right place at the right time.
So that's what I'm going to do. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'm going to grab my opportunity with both hands, and awe my interview team with my strength of purpose, calm intelligence, friendly accessibility, and most of all-- they'll realize that I've got a lot more to offer than what they see on paper. I'm a good person to have on your team, and I'll grow into and enhance beyond expectation any position I'm invited to accept. It's coming. I can feel it.
... I'm reminded of that old song "I WAAAANT you to want me. I NEEED you to need me! I'd Loooove you to love me..." Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a cat-claw-proof container for the new bag of cat food I just bought. Bubba has already made a hole in the bag, and keeps trying to come back for more. The bottom of the bag. The bag that is supposed to keep the cat food fresh, and the smell inside. The one I bought this morning, and haven't opened yet. THAT bag.
The Beginning:
Every once in a while, I get this feeling of certainty. I know that I just need to go here or do this-- and I'll get a very specific and much-desired result. I had that feeling when I decided to buy a CR-V about five years ago. I told my dad we just needed to go to this one town about 45 minutes away, and I'd like to stop in at XYZ Honda. At his insistence, I looked up other Honda dealers in town, and called all over the more local area in search of something good. Finally, dragging his feet and reeking of disbelief, he got into my "trade vehicle" and I drove us down to the XYZ Honda dealership. There were only two parking places in the lot-- and I chose the one next to the blue CR-V. It was for sale. On special. It was about a year old. It was perfect. And I got a really great deal on it. I had no doubts. This was the vehicle I was going to get, and I was going to get it on my terms. That's one example.
I haven't had this feeling often, but often enough to recognize it. An unshakable certainty-- a strength of purpose in my gut and my heart. The feeling has been building over the past day or two. Something good is coming. And I know the job I'm planning to get is right around the corner. What I don't know is if it's one I've already applied for, or one I just saw and need to apply for NOW, or one I'll find in the next few days. Usually, my path is a little clearer than this... or at least, I keep putting one steady foot in front of the other, and I arrive at the right place at the right time.
So that's what I'm going to do. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'm going to grab my opportunity with both hands, and awe my interview team with my strength of purpose, calm intelligence, friendly accessibility, and most of all-- they'll realize that I've got a lot more to offer than what they see on paper. I'm a good person to have on your team, and I'll grow into and enhance beyond expectation any position I'm invited to accept. It's coming. I can feel it.
... I'm reminded of that old song "I WAAAANT you to want me. I NEEED you to need me! I'd Loooove you to love me..." Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a cat-claw-proof container for the new bag of cat food I just bought. Bubba has already made a hole in the bag, and keeps trying to come back for more. The bottom of the bag. The bag that is supposed to keep the cat food fresh, and the smell inside. The one I bought this morning, and haven't opened yet. THAT bag.
Sunday, July 27
Hard to Say, Really
Well, I had a grand tour of CatMan's home last night. And realized that while I appreciate his passion for old stuff because I like and respect him... I wouldn't want to live with all the old stuff he has collected.
So once I got home last night, and again when I got up this morning, I've been trying to figure out the most honest, respectful (to me and to him), and compassionate way that I can let him know I've enjoyed getting to know him, and I respect him greatly, but I don't want to date him. I'd love to have him as a good friend, instead.
(Can you tell I've been thinking this through for a while now?) For all that it needs to be said, I know from the long email he sent me this morning that he's really enjoying our (still non-physical) relationship... It's going to be really hard to tell him that his path is not the one I want to walk.
So once I got home last night, and again when I got up this morning, I've been trying to figure out the most honest, respectful (to me and to him), and compassionate way that I can let him know I've enjoyed getting to know him, and I respect him greatly, but I don't want to date him. I'd love to have him as a good friend, instead.
(Can you tell I've been thinking this through for a while now?) For all that it needs to be said, I know from the long email he sent me this morning that he's really enjoying our (still non-physical) relationship... It's going to be really hard to tell him that his path is not the one I want to walk.
Friday, July 25
WHY?!
Umm... I think maybe my cat is allergic to fish. Apparently, this is possible. And I've been trying to figure out why she is puking so much lately... Today, the only extraordinary thing she ate was a piece of tuna. And a few days ago, she had "cat tuna" from my house mate. And a few days before that, it was actual fish bits from a fillet. Also, the cheap treats I got for her have tuna and fish in them, it appears. Huh.
One thing's for sure. I am SICK of cleaning up half-digested cat-vomit. E-yew!
One thing's for sure. I am SICK of cleaning up half-digested cat-vomit. E-yew!
Acting Up
Fridays are good. And with such a positive start to them, I sometimes plan to do unpleasant things on Fridays, just because there's a greater chance of actually DOING them that way...
Today, my plan is to actually attack the growing amorphous blob of CRAP in the middle of my room. There's a sewing machine, several unfinished projects, the latest pile of "to shred" documents, some receipts I really would have liked to locate last week, a random shower curtain (no, I don't know why either), and well... STUFF.
So I planned a whole three hours of my day for getting around to fixing the pile, or at least dissecting it a bit. I've got an hour left, and I haven't started yet. This is not a good sign. ...maybe tomorrow would be an even BETTER day to tackle it... after all-- tomorrow is Saturday... hmm. O the horror of it all! The problem is that even once I know what's IN the pile, I'm not sure I'll actually have a better place to keep it. I miss my extra-tall bed frame at times like these. The WHOLE PILE would have fit under it with room to spare.
Unfortunately, that (along with all my summer clothes) is buried somewhere in my storage unit. Fortunately, this may actually force me to sort, label, and redistribute everything from the pile in an orderly and productive manner. Man, who knew "dissecting" had TWO 's's in it!!
The good news is that I've been so anti about this project that I've managed to get any number of OTHER projects that I'd previously been avoiding done. I cleared out, cleaned out, and redistributed my house mate's junk drawer in the kitchen. I still don't know what all the reddish-brown powder was all over the bottom layer of junk. I sorted and cleaned and put away this huge box of spices she bought at an estate sale. I would KISS the woman who put the purchase date of each spice on the labels if I knew where she was. Everything older than two years got thrown out-- because I know PC won't throw any of them out ever, and I want her to at least START with a quality spice collection. ... Anyway, a lot of projects got crossed off the list.
And with half an hour to go, I think it's time to get busy with THIS project. Really. ...I guess I should have called this post "cleaning up my act... sort of." Meh.
Today, my plan is to actually attack the growing amorphous blob of CRAP in the middle of my room. There's a sewing machine, several unfinished projects, the latest pile of "to shred" documents, some receipts I really would have liked to locate last week, a random shower curtain (no, I don't know why either), and well... STUFF.
So I planned a whole three hours of my day for getting around to fixing the pile, or at least dissecting it a bit. I've got an hour left, and I haven't started yet. This is not a good sign. ...maybe tomorrow would be an even BETTER day to tackle it... after all-- tomorrow is Saturday... hmm. O the horror of it all! The problem is that even once I know what's IN the pile, I'm not sure I'll actually have a better place to keep it. I miss my extra-tall bed frame at times like these. The WHOLE PILE would have fit under it with room to spare.
Unfortunately, that (along with all my summer clothes) is buried somewhere in my storage unit. Fortunately, this may actually force me to sort, label, and redistribute everything from the pile in an orderly and productive manner. Man, who knew "dissecting" had TWO 's's in it!!
The good news is that I've been so anti about this project that I've managed to get any number of OTHER projects that I'd previously been avoiding done. I cleared out, cleaned out, and redistributed my house mate's junk drawer in the kitchen. I still don't know what all the reddish-brown powder was all over the bottom layer of junk. I sorted and cleaned and put away this huge box of spices she bought at an estate sale. I would KISS the woman who put the purchase date of each spice on the labels if I knew where she was. Everything older than two years got thrown out-- because I know PC won't throw any of them out ever, and I want her to at least START with a quality spice collection. ... Anyway, a lot of projects got crossed off the list.
And with half an hour to go, I think it's time to get busy with THIS project. Really. ...I guess I should have called this post "cleaning up my act... sort of." Meh.
Thursday, July 24
Whydoi
I have to laugh at myself. Often.
For example, when it comes to dating, I've learned just how easy it is to have very conflicting wants. I've met a man who actually likes to talk, and listen, and to whom I like to talk and listen, too. But last night, after making marketing calls for a couple of hours, and then coaching for a couple of hours, my throat hurt, and the idea of talking to anyone about anything made my voice and my brain hurt.
So, instead of calling CatMan, and falling into a long conversation, I emailed him. And said how much I did NOT want to talk. I didn't clarify that talking to ANYONE would have been unappealing, and I was so tired that I doubt my email would have made much rational sense to anyone. I also think I asked him out to a movie this weekend. But I couldn't swear to that.
This morning? The first thing I did was RUSH to email to see if he'd responded yet. Responded to what? My apparent desire not to interact with him? ...before 7am on a work day?
And then I started to laugh. Last time I checked, my life was about me. And being tired and taking care of myself was a GOOD thing. I'd forgotten how easy it is to get swept into relationship, and how hard I find it to think of myself and my needs when I'm in relationship with someone I really care about. The good news is that I noticed myself being silly, and can now make a different choice.
So I'll call CatMan when he gets home from work tonight, and maybe we can enjoy a good conversation then. I think it'll be okay. I think maybe we don't have to call out the Nagtional Guard on this one. You think?
For example, when it comes to dating, I've learned just how easy it is to have very conflicting wants. I've met a man who actually likes to talk, and listen, and to whom I like to talk and listen, too. But last night, after making marketing calls for a couple of hours, and then coaching for a couple of hours, my throat hurt, and the idea of talking to anyone about anything made my voice and my brain hurt.
So, instead of calling CatMan, and falling into a long conversation, I emailed him. And said how much I did NOT want to talk. I didn't clarify that talking to ANYONE would have been unappealing, and I was so tired that I doubt my email would have made much rational sense to anyone. I also think I asked him out to a movie this weekend. But I couldn't swear to that.
This morning? The first thing I did was RUSH to email to see if he'd responded yet. Responded to what? My apparent desire not to interact with him? ...before 7am on a work day?
And then I started to laugh. Last time I checked, my life was about me. And being tired and taking care of myself was a GOOD thing. I'd forgotten how easy it is to get swept into relationship, and how hard I find it to think of myself and my needs when I'm in relationship with someone I really care about. The good news is that I noticed myself being silly, and can now make a different choice.
So I'll call CatMan when he gets home from work tonight, and maybe we can enjoy a good conversation then. I think it'll be okay. I think maybe we don't have to call out the Nagtional Guard on this one. You think?
Tuesday, July 22
Breakfast with a Boy
...well, okay. Breakfast with my Brother would probably be more accurate. But it was so less titillating! So Big D and I met for breakfast. I actually was pretty worried that I'd written down our final destination wrong when I arrived a few minutes late and didn't see him. Then I called to check, and woke him up. I didn't feel so bad after that.
THE FOOD WAS AWESOME. I'm going back sometime to try some of the other things on the menu that caught my attention-- and thinking about them has made me start to drool. mmmm And breakfast with Big D is a little like making a cameo appearance in a walking comic strip. Something funny is always about to happen, or maybe it just did. For example, our food arrived, and his first comment was, "I'd offer you a bite, but... well..."
We'd ordered the same thing.
And he told me all about the latest movies, too. Apparently the new Dark Knight Batman is REALLY DARK, and the rave reviews of the dead actor's acting are NOT hype or good will or anything of the sort. His acting is genuinely disturbing. I commented that Big D must really have loved the movie, then. "Yeaaaahhhh." He also highly suggests Wally as a great date movie. Apparently, the romance aspect is good but not overwhelming, so you can just enjoy the film. And apparently, half of it is silent because robots don't talk. And the movie that's next on his hit list? Kungfoo Kisses. I'm serious. They named a movie that. He feels a need to support any movie that actually allows for an Asian male lead. And this one is supposed to have a blonde American girl and a really hot Chinese girl fighting over Mr. Asian-- so it can't be ALL bad. All of which he told me BEFORE disclosing the name of the actual movie. Because if he'd said the name first, I'd have been laughing too hard to hear him say anything else about it.
Seriously. Kung Foo Kisses. WTF?!
So breakfast was good. Big D also clarified for me that (in boy world, which I don't even PRETEND to understand) if he picks you up, and it's one-on-one, and you're both single and interested in each other's gender-- it's a date. He's also responsible for yet another great dating question: "When will it be my turn to talk?" Thank you, D. I knew I could count on you.
(As a side note, I often wonder as I walk away from yet another awesome hour with Big D... Where were the cameras hidden THIS time???)
THE FOOD WAS AWESOME. I'm going back sometime to try some of the other things on the menu that caught my attention-- and thinking about them has made me start to drool. mmmm And breakfast with Big D is a little like making a cameo appearance in a walking comic strip. Something funny is always about to happen, or maybe it just did. For example, our food arrived, and his first comment was, "I'd offer you a bite, but... well..."
We'd ordered the same thing.
And he told me all about the latest movies, too. Apparently the new Dark Knight Batman is REALLY DARK, and the rave reviews of the dead actor's acting are NOT hype or good will or anything of the sort. His acting is genuinely disturbing. I commented that Big D must really have loved the movie, then. "Yeaaaahhhh." He also highly suggests Wally as a great date movie. Apparently, the romance aspect is good but not overwhelming, so you can just enjoy the film. And apparently, half of it is silent because robots don't talk. And the movie that's next on his hit list? Kungfoo Kisses. I'm serious. They named a movie that. He feels a need to support any movie that actually allows for an Asian male lead. And this one is supposed to have a blonde American girl and a really hot Chinese girl fighting over Mr. Asian-- so it can't be ALL bad. All of which he told me BEFORE disclosing the name of the actual movie. Because if he'd said the name first, I'd have been laughing too hard to hear him say anything else about it.
Seriously. Kung Foo Kisses. WTF?!
So breakfast was good. Big D also clarified for me that (in boy world, which I don't even PRETEND to understand) if he picks you up, and it's one-on-one, and you're both single and interested in each other's gender-- it's a date. He's also responsible for yet another great dating question: "When will it be my turn to talk?" Thank you, D. I knew I could count on you.
(As a side note, I often wonder as I walk away from yet another awesome hour with Big D... Where were the cameras hidden THIS time???)
Monday, July 21
Growing Up
Everybody is growing up. I had dinner with my West-Coast family tonight. TE looks and acts like a professional lawyer-- she's wonderful. She's barely a year older than I am, too, and no longer new to her profession. Her baby is fussy and cute and 5 months old. Her oldest daughter is already more mature than last time I saw her. And taller. She's going to out-grow her mother yet, I think, and I worry that maybe she's not getting the love and careful attention her needy and dramatic little soul needs sometimes. She sure likes to shop.
My parents are older, too. They squint and help each other remember things. It's been a long time since Uncle R has changed his own babies' diapers... and here he is, at it again with grandchild number four. I guess I'm growing up, too, in a way. Learning to navigate between my old fears and my new possibilities. Learning to take intelligent emotional risks, and learning to let my body rest when I am tired.
I even got a great fortune cookie after dinner tonight-- Use your abilities at this time to stay focused on your goal. You will succeed. I don't know who wrote it, but I sure did need to hear it. I have a picture of an abundant life-- my abundant life-- in my head. Sometimes I feel it's within easy reach, and sometimes it doesn't matter how far or how thin I stretch myself, my goals remain very far away. Funny to realize that how little adults really know and control in real life.
I guess that's a learning process, too. And I'm okay with that. I think I've come a long way in the last four years, and I'm proud of me. I just want a library job... and these days, I feel that it'd be nice to have one fairly close to home-- and in an academic library or vendor service. I'd like to be financially self-sufficient, and emotionally come from a place of strength. Right now, I'm just tired. So tired I'm actually emotionally numb, and my shoulder/neck is hurting in a way it hasn't for weeks now.
I know part of that is the way I've spent the last several days-- scrambling to pull an interview together, catching up on all my web-based commitments. There was a huge day of family and their friends, with hard news about an illness of someone dear to me in the midst of the festivities, and a concert on the lawn. My Saturday ended after midnight, and I was tired and raw from navigating it all. Excited about Sunday, but nervous, too. Dating seems to have much higher emotional risks than friending ever has.
Sunday was a very good day. Longer than I'd expected, I was on my feet for nearly seven hours straight, and having good conversation with a new friend. I think we're dating, but I'm not really sure. I hope that conversation will come as easily as all the other talk has so far... It was a real success to be relaxed and not let my fears about my own shigt intrude-- for a whole day of one-on-one time with someone whose opinion of me I really value. I can't pretend the shigt isn't there... but I can decide how I'm going to act when I recognize it. And maybe... maybe this guy with so many other amazingly great qualities will be great about my shigt, too. I'd like that.
I stayed up late again, trying to work things out in my head. Trying to separate old nasties from new realities. Trying to figure out what had actually happened, what I was told had happened, and what I want to have happen next. The first person I need to be clear and honest with is me, after all. So, exhausted again, I fell into bed after midnight on Sunday.
Monday itself has been a blur of running errands, finishing web responsibilities, making the long drive to family dinner (arriving 45 minutes early, only to find that nobody'd called for a reservation) and back home again... And I realize I will sleep tonight. I'm exhausted both in body and in mind. I need time to process all I've done and felt and thought and seen and heard. I have more errands to run, and breakfast with a very dear friend in the morning-- somewhere near 23rd. Somewhere. Then there's work to do, and I'd really like to sort and stash everything from that nasty lump of crap in the middle of my floor tomorrow. It's time.
Balancing my own needs and the responsibilities and desires I feel (including the desire to make everyone around me happy, too) is yet another aspect of growing up. One I'm still working to achieve in a healthy and balanced way. I'll get there... but it may take a while longer. I'm not all THAT grown up yet, and my birthday is coming. Time enough to figure things out when I'm 3o. Right?
...let's see... that gives me a whole three weeks to bumble around in the dark here... give or take.
My parents are older, too. They squint and help each other remember things. It's been a long time since Uncle R has changed his own babies' diapers... and here he is, at it again with grandchild number four. I guess I'm growing up, too, in a way. Learning to navigate between my old fears and my new possibilities. Learning to take intelligent emotional risks, and learning to let my body rest when I am tired.
I even got a great fortune cookie after dinner tonight-- Use your abilities at this time to stay focused on your goal. You will succeed. I don't know who wrote it, but I sure did need to hear it. I have a picture of an abundant life-- my abundant life-- in my head. Sometimes I feel it's within easy reach, and sometimes it doesn't matter how far or how thin I stretch myself, my goals remain very far away. Funny to realize that how little adults really know and control in real life.
I guess that's a learning process, too. And I'm okay with that. I think I've come a long way in the last four years, and I'm proud of me. I just want a library job... and these days, I feel that it'd be nice to have one fairly close to home-- and in an academic library or vendor service. I'd like to be financially self-sufficient, and emotionally come from a place of strength. Right now, I'm just tired. So tired I'm actually emotionally numb, and my shoulder/neck is hurting in a way it hasn't for weeks now.
I know part of that is the way I've spent the last several days-- scrambling to pull an interview together, catching up on all my web-based commitments. There was a huge day of family and their friends, with hard news about an illness of someone dear to me in the midst of the festivities, and a concert on the lawn. My Saturday ended after midnight, and I was tired and raw from navigating it all. Excited about Sunday, but nervous, too. Dating seems to have much higher emotional risks than friending ever has.
Sunday was a very good day. Longer than I'd expected, I was on my feet for nearly seven hours straight, and having good conversation with a new friend. I think we're dating, but I'm not really sure. I hope that conversation will come as easily as all the other talk has so far... It was a real success to be relaxed and not let my fears about my own shigt intrude-- for a whole day of one-on-one time with someone whose opinion of me I really value. I can't pretend the shigt isn't there... but I can decide how I'm going to act when I recognize it. And maybe... maybe this guy with so many other amazingly great qualities will be great about my shigt, too. I'd like that.
I stayed up late again, trying to work things out in my head. Trying to separate old nasties from new realities. Trying to figure out what had actually happened, what I was told had happened, and what I want to have happen next. The first person I need to be clear and honest with is me, after all. So, exhausted again, I fell into bed after midnight on Sunday.
Monday itself has been a blur of running errands, finishing web responsibilities, making the long drive to family dinner (arriving 45 minutes early, only to find that nobody'd called for a reservation) and back home again... And I realize I will sleep tonight. I'm exhausted both in body and in mind. I need time to process all I've done and felt and thought and seen and heard. I have more errands to run, and breakfast with a very dear friend in the morning-- somewhere near 23rd. Somewhere. Then there's work to do, and I'd really like to sort and stash everything from that nasty lump of crap in the middle of my floor tomorrow. It's time.
Balancing my own needs and the responsibilities and desires I feel (including the desire to make everyone around me happy, too) is yet another aspect of growing up. One I'm still working to achieve in a healthy and balanced way. I'll get there... but it may take a while longer. I'm not all THAT grown up yet, and my birthday is coming. Time enough to figure things out when I'm 3o. Right?
...let's see... that gives me a whole three weeks to bumble around in the dark here... give or take.
3-2-1... CONTACT!
Three cats,
Two litter boxes,
One spot of sun.
...sometimes life is a contact sport...
(And by the way, I finally started that list of dating questions-- it's on the right.)
Two litter boxes,
One spot of sun.
...sometimes life is a contact sport...
(And by the way, I finally started that list of dating questions-- it's on the right.)
The Scary Part...
I think I went on a date. Now what???
This guy is intelligent, self-sufficient, capable, stable, easy-going, and also knows what he wants and what he thinks. He's mature, and he's sturdy, and he's thoughtful and caring-- especially toward his family and his community, and he doesn't seem to worry about what anybody else thinks, and seems to have his life pretty well planned out. What on earth would I bring to his life that he doesn't already have? Would there be room for me and my goals and my way of living? And... could I maintain my own newly and hard-won self-awareness and personal opinions and sense of purpose in the world if I ended up in a serious relationship with him? Would I stop being silly around the edges so that I'd appear mature and sturdy, too? Standing on one foot isn't very sturdy, and the Christmas carols aren't always sung in tune... but it's who I am, and I really like me.
It's part of a larger concern. The last vestiges of my fear of fugcking up at dating like I did at marrying, and of not finding someone who actually IS all those things I THINK he is; mixed with this irrational fear that I'm not enough for a guy like this.
I just have to let actions speak, and listen when they do. I have to give myself (and him) TIME. And ask frank questions if/when I want more transparent communication between us. That's a challenge all by itself, but it's important to me.
Without good, solid, honest, and timely communication... there isn't really anything else.
My job is to make sure I stay in touch with myself and my needs, and that I clearly communicate my needs and my questions to whomever I am with. I'm getting better at this, but I've got some learning left to do. All that is about me. It would be the same with any guy... And this guy seems to be really great. Really Great. In some ways, it'd be easier if his baggage was as transparent to me as mine is...
And... When I stop to think about who I am and what I have to offer a friend or a partner... it's actually pretty impressive. I'm caring, considerate (usually), and I pursue open and honest communication. I invite opportunity for consensus. I'm intelligent. I have plans for a career, and I enjoy being productive. I'm sometimes funny (it helps if you get my jokes). I've got a lot of skills, and I'm willing to try new things and lend a hand when I do know what I'm doing.
I'm artistic, and handy, and creative, and a good problem-solver (usually-- there was that time when I forgot that I didn't need an internet connection to transport information from one computer to another...). I take healthy risks, and I'm constantly working to improve myself as a person and a community-member. I'm genuine. I'm good with animals and children and... just about everybody else, too.
I steal the covers, but I give them back. I'm not afraid to ask for help when I need it. I cook excellent one-pot meals. I buy organic, and I like french fries. I'm a skilled writer and information-finder. I know how to use the spell-checker. I'm loyal. I'm flexible so long as SOMEONE has a plan. I don't get angry easily (though I get frustrated with myself more easily than I'd like)... I can laugh at myself, and I love to cuddle. I give a good massage, and I can be very sensual in a safe and committed situation. People seem to think I'm good company, and I'm pretty good at expressing my opinions when I have them. I really see people for who they are inside, when given a window in.
I mean, really, that's a lot to offer in the dating world...
and-- apparently-- I'm perky, too. So There.
It occurs to me... I need to start a list of questions we all want to ask, but often don't know how (or don't have the courage to ask) in dating situations! According to a girlfriend of mine who's done a lot of dating recently, the rules now are... THERE ARE NO RULES. Dating is what you want it to be. Huh. I'm really not sure how to interact with that. I want conflicting things. It's hard to take big risks when what I really want is not to get hurt. I don't want any more hurt in my life right now. I've had enough to last two lifetimes. I also want to see if there IS a good life-partner out there for me, and that involves taking some emotional risks.
So I wonder... is it simply time to focus on enjoying today, and let the future take care of itself? Ironically, the very next thing that comes to mind is a question: ...and where will that lead if I do?? How scary is that!
This guy is intelligent, self-sufficient, capable, stable, easy-going, and also knows what he wants and what he thinks. He's mature, and he's sturdy, and he's thoughtful and caring-- especially toward his family and his community, and he doesn't seem to worry about what anybody else thinks, and seems to have his life pretty well planned out. What on earth would I bring to his life that he doesn't already have? Would there be room for me and my goals and my way of living? And... could I maintain my own newly and hard-won self-awareness and personal opinions and sense of purpose in the world if I ended up in a serious relationship with him? Would I stop being silly around the edges so that I'd appear mature and sturdy, too? Standing on one foot isn't very sturdy, and the Christmas carols aren't always sung in tune... but it's who I am, and I really like me.
It's part of a larger concern. The last vestiges of my fear of fugcking up at dating like I did at marrying, and of not finding someone who actually IS all those things I THINK he is; mixed with this irrational fear that I'm not enough for a guy like this.
I just have to let actions speak, and listen when they do. I have to give myself (and him) TIME. And ask frank questions if/when I want more transparent communication between us. That's a challenge all by itself, but it's important to me.
Without good, solid, honest, and timely communication... there isn't really anything else.
My job is to make sure I stay in touch with myself and my needs, and that I clearly communicate my needs and my questions to whomever I am with. I'm getting better at this, but I've got some learning left to do. All that is about me. It would be the same with any guy... And this guy seems to be really great. Really Great. In some ways, it'd be easier if his baggage was as transparent to me as mine is...
And... When I stop to think about who I am and what I have to offer a friend or a partner... it's actually pretty impressive. I'm caring, considerate (usually), and I pursue open and honest communication. I invite opportunity for consensus. I'm intelligent. I have plans for a career, and I enjoy being productive. I'm sometimes funny (it helps if you get my jokes). I've got a lot of skills, and I'm willing to try new things and lend a hand when I do know what I'm doing.
I'm artistic, and handy, and creative, and a good problem-solver (usually-- there was that time when I forgot that I didn't need an internet connection to transport information from one computer to another...). I take healthy risks, and I'm constantly working to improve myself as a person and a community-member. I'm genuine. I'm good with animals and children and... just about everybody else, too.
I steal the covers, but I give them back. I'm not afraid to ask for help when I need it. I cook excellent one-pot meals. I buy organic, and I like french fries. I'm a skilled writer and information-finder. I know how to use the spell-checker. I'm loyal. I'm flexible so long as SOMEONE has a plan. I don't get angry easily (though I get frustrated with myself more easily than I'd like)... I can laugh at myself, and I love to cuddle. I give a good massage, and I can be very sensual in a safe and committed situation. People seem to think I'm good company, and I'm pretty good at expressing my opinions when I have them. I really see people for who they are inside, when given a window in.
I mean, really, that's a lot to offer in the dating world...
and-- apparently-- I'm perky, too. So There.
It occurs to me... I need to start a list of questions we all want to ask, but often don't know how (or don't have the courage to ask) in dating situations! According to a girlfriend of mine who's done a lot of dating recently, the rules now are... THERE ARE NO RULES. Dating is what you want it to be. Huh. I'm really not sure how to interact with that. I want conflicting things. It's hard to take big risks when what I really want is not to get hurt. I don't want any more hurt in my life right now. I've had enough to last two lifetimes. I also want to see if there IS a good life-partner out there for me, and that involves taking some emotional risks.
So I wonder... is it simply time to focus on enjoying today, and let the future take care of itself? Ironically, the very next thing that comes to mind is a question: ...and where will that lead if I do?? How scary is that!
Sunday, July 20
Polly Wolly Doodle
I nearly titled this Seven Hours of "Parking," but then I thought better of it. Then, I thought about calling it All The Things He Did Right... but again, it just wasn't what I wanted in a title...
The truth is... I'm not even sure today was a date. Defining it as that brings up a lot of the insecurities I haven't quite worked through yet. CatMan picked me up at 10:30am-ish. He played with the cats while I finished rushing around and pulling my shigt together, and then we were off... In a REALLY CUTE little red two-seater Toyota thingy. Apparently, he also has one in blue. I think this car was born in the '80's, and it was just FUN to ride in, without being the "pimp-daddy date car" that it could easily have been. Part of the fun was that CatMan is a good driver, and I could actually ignore the road and focus on the conversation while we drove out to the well-treed park we were planning to walk around in. It was actually very easy to relax and allow the whole day to just unfold. I really appreciated that.
The plan was to take a short jaunt through the tree-lined paths of the public park, nosh on some munchies (he brought cheese and crackers and berries from his yummy black raspberry bush and a knife to cut the bread and napkins and...-- I brought Dave's Killer Bread and some Mediterranean Kalamata Olives), and get home again before the day got hot.
But we had such easy conversation, and it was so much cooler among the trees, that we eventually ran out of trail and settled on a park bench (in the PARK, so technically we were "PARKING") for another hour or two of talk. Just talk. Really. I think we got back to my place (and promptly walked up the street for an ice cream cone and some more conversation) around 6pm.
Turns out he's an ice cream freak. Not as bad as I am, but close. Turns out, he takes my teasing pretty well-- though I wasn't always sure he knew I WAS teasing him. I might need to work on that. And while I'm into corny action flicks, he's into corny action heroes (and the constant rash of tv series about them)... I own more DVDs, but his CD collection outweighs mine by a couple of decibel points. (Ahem-- I meant decimal. I did.)
We both have moms who like to collect and/or save large quantities of inexpensive and potentially useful storage items. (read: pack rats)... He's into live and let live yard work, and he's scrupulous about it. I'm happy I don't have a yard (though I do dream of an herb garden and some shade trees one day...), and I'm glad to hear the baby maples stand a chance, even if the conifer doesn't. Basically, we had entire conversations about stuff that the other person knew almost but not quite completely NOTHING ABOUT, even though you'd think from the outside that the topics we each enjoyed would seriously overlap at some point. It was very entertaining.
We both seem to be at a point where we'd rather not have a relationship at all than settle for one that's not so great. And, like I said, we both love ice cream. I have to say, I think there's potential. Isn't that bizarre?
And, truthfully, it's a little scary.
The truth is... I'm not even sure today was a date. Defining it as that brings up a lot of the insecurities I haven't quite worked through yet. CatMan picked me up at 10:30am-ish. He played with the cats while I finished rushing around and pulling my shigt together, and then we were off... In a REALLY CUTE little red two-seater Toyota thingy. Apparently, he also has one in blue. I think this car was born in the '80's, and it was just FUN to ride in, without being the "pimp-daddy date car" that it could easily have been. Part of the fun was that CatMan is a good driver, and I could actually ignore the road and focus on the conversation while we drove out to the well-treed park we were planning to walk around in. It was actually very easy to relax and allow the whole day to just unfold. I really appreciated that.
The plan was to take a short jaunt through the tree-lined paths of the public park, nosh on some munchies (he brought cheese and crackers and berries from his yummy black raspberry bush and a knife to cut the bread and napkins and...-- I brought Dave's Killer Bread and some Mediterranean Kalamata Olives), and get home again before the day got hot.
But we had such easy conversation, and it was so much cooler among the trees, that we eventually ran out of trail and settled on a park bench (in the PARK, so technically we were "PARKING") for another hour or two of talk. Just talk. Really. I think we got back to my place (and promptly walked up the street for an ice cream cone and some more conversation) around 6pm.
Turns out he's an ice cream freak. Not as bad as I am, but close. Turns out, he takes my teasing pretty well-- though I wasn't always sure he knew I WAS teasing him. I might need to work on that. And while I'm into corny action flicks, he's into corny action heroes (and the constant rash of tv series about them)... I own more DVDs, but his CD collection outweighs mine by a couple of decibel points. (Ahem-- I meant decimal. I did.)
We both have moms who like to collect and/or save large quantities of inexpensive and potentially useful storage items. (read: pack rats)... He's into live and let live yard work, and he's scrupulous about it. I'm happy I don't have a yard (though I do dream of an herb garden and some shade trees one day...), and I'm glad to hear the baby maples stand a chance, even if the conifer doesn't. Basically, we had entire conversations about stuff that the other person knew almost but not quite completely NOTHING ABOUT, even though you'd think from the outside that the topics we each enjoyed would seriously overlap at some point. It was very entertaining.
We both seem to be at a point where we'd rather not have a relationship at all than settle for one that's not so great. And, like I said, we both love ice cream. I have to say, I think there's potential. Isn't that bizarre?
And, truthfully, it's a little scary.
Thursday, July 17
The randomness...
...
WANT.
CHOCOLATE.
To drink with a spoon.
...NAGKED.
(see below for details)
The randomness that is life...: Danger defined
WANT.
CHOCOLATE.
To drink with a spoon.
...NAGKED.
(see below for details)
The randomness that is life...: Danger defined
What's Your Favorite...
I'd forgotten that there can be this awkward period of "getting to know you" when you make new friends. Especially if you both know there's a possibility that you might be more than friends-- and neither one of you is really sure you're ready for that. I also hadn't realized that the questions I'd have asked in high school might not be quite so appropriate now...
Questions like: What's your favorite color? and Who's your favorite actor? and Which do you prefer-- boxers or briefs? (well, okay, that was college)... Umm...
It's actually a funny thing-- talking on the telephone, trying to find mutual topics of conversation, not sure of each other's verbal patterns so you end up starting to respond before he stops talking-- often enough to feel foolish about it. Some people are just easier to talk with in person, and with others... an hour or two might go by unnoticed while your relationship blooms via the technology that links you. It's a hit-or-miss sort of thing.
The good news is that I've discovered I no longer hold a grudge against everyone who shares the same interests, career, or bone structure as my Ex. I'm really fine with military guys (though that last one was a bit of a flake), and it's okay if you play the occasional video game (just don't play so much that you have to stop yourself from going into the nearest jewelry store because your "supply of pearls is low"). I can even handle men with a predilection for ... well, never mind that one. It's just good to know that I'm (generally speaking, since I'm not perfect) going into any future dating relationships with no preconceived judgments or expectations. It really IS going to be about how things go between me and the man I'm talking to. The ghosts are finally fading away. YAYYYY!!!
So... No Shight, there we were. Having a conversation about cats. His cats. His two female black cats who sound really fun, and have their own playground that has taken over most of the living room floor, and includes several army-issue ponchos because the material actually sheds cat fur. His cats that he picked out of a litter of kittens, and one of whom he has named Morgan, after Morgan le Fae from Arthurian Legends. How F-ing COOL is THAT?!
The things we talked about HINT at awesome things that didn't quite reach the surface. And I'm hooked. I want to find out if those hints are fool's gold or something more precious. And I want to be respectful. But it takes getting to know someone to really understand what "respectful" looks like to them. And I don't know him very well yet. So I'm guessing. I told myself very firmly-- months ago now-- that if I ever DID date somebody ever again, I would NOT play the whole "how long am I supposed to wait before I call back?!" guessing game. No. And now, here I am. Wondering if I can call and tell him about my weekend on Sunday, or if I should wait until later in the week-- give him a chance to call me again. ...and I'm not sure there's any way to avoid hazarding a few guesses. For instance, I guess I should probably stop editing this blog post, and get some sleep.
I can tell right now that I need to create a new label for all the posts that are going to show up about dating, now that I'm actually out there trying to participate in it.
And-- Hey!-- How the hell do you know if a guy is the right age for you anymore?! It was easy when we were all in school together-- either he was in your classes or he wasn't. But now? ...Umm...
While the whole age-range of datability has expanded as I've grown up (at twelve, dating a guy two years older was like REALLY BOLD-- I mean, he's OLD!!!), and I've discovered that I'm now okay with someone ten years older than me, I think, until proven otherwise, on a case-by-case basis, maybe... TWENTY YEARS IS PUSHING IT. But that's me. And if I run into a couple with a greater range in age than what I would accept for myself, I try to make my judgement based on whether there is respect, appreciation, maturity and enjoyment from each person for the other or not-- because those are the only things I know for a fact should exist in every relationship regardless.
Okay. That was a seriously run-on sentence. But it's a valid question. The older we get, the harder it is for me to guess how old we are. And can I just tell you that I was accused of being petite and blonde over the phone today? By a very nice woman who lives in Georgia. She's never seen me before, but I just SOUNDED like a blonde to her. Along these same lines, a friend once shocked me to my toes by telling me that he would describe me as "perky." ME?? ReALLY?? But... I'm so BORING! ... and he gave me that "what planet does your mirror live on, really??" look, so I guess it's true. Me. Perky.
...And I'd forgotten about it, and gone back to thinking of myself as boring and not anything like those fun cheerful bouncy cheerleader types... I mean, really. I'm a librarian, man. ...Until I talked with this woman from Georgia. And then the man with the cats called. I found myself trying not to say "like" quite so often, and not being quite as ...uhh... twinkly and random?... in my responses to his conversation. I didn't want to come across as "young" or "immature" or ... "blonde" somehow... And when I realized what I was doing, I had to laugh at myself. Either he'll like me or he won't. And either I'll like him or I won't.
But pretending to anybody that I don't stand on one foot and sing Christmas carols to myself when I wash dishes is just silly. Because all you have to do is walk into the kitchen while I'm doing dishes, and you realize that this is EXACTLY what I do, people. HONESTLY. And, just as with the whole "perky" thing, I didn't even know I did that until one day my mom came home from work early, walked into the kitchen, and burst out laughing to the point of actual tears.
...sigh...
I don't think I have this hangup in person, however (the one about trying to appear mature), so I'm going to cross my fingers and hope that the next time CatMan calls, he'll be calling to invite me to do something face-to-face. And maybe, if he's nice, I'll even sing him a Christmas carol or two. Like.
Questions like: What's your favorite color? and Who's your favorite actor? and Which do you prefer-- boxers or briefs? (well, okay, that was college)... Umm...
It's actually a funny thing-- talking on the telephone, trying to find mutual topics of conversation, not sure of each other's verbal patterns so you end up starting to respond before he stops talking-- often enough to feel foolish about it. Some people are just easier to talk with in person, and with others... an hour or two might go by unnoticed while your relationship blooms via the technology that links you. It's a hit-or-miss sort of thing.
The good news is that I've discovered I no longer hold a grudge against everyone who shares the same interests, career, or bone structure as my Ex. I'm really fine with military guys (though that last one was a bit of a flake), and it's okay if you play the occasional video game (just don't play so much that you have to stop yourself from going into the nearest jewelry store because your "supply of pearls is low"). I can even handle men with a predilection for ... well, never mind that one. It's just good to know that I'm (generally speaking, since I'm not perfect) going into any future dating relationships with no preconceived judgments or expectations. It really IS going to be about how things go between me and the man I'm talking to. The ghosts are finally fading away. YAYYYY!!!
So... No Shight, there we were. Having a conversation about cats. His cats. His two female black cats who sound really fun, and have their own playground that has taken over most of the living room floor, and includes several army-issue ponchos because the material actually sheds cat fur. His cats that he picked out of a litter of kittens, and one of whom he has named Morgan, after Morgan le Fae from Arthurian Legends. How F-ing COOL is THAT?!
The things we talked about HINT at awesome things that didn't quite reach the surface. And I'm hooked. I want to find out if those hints are fool's gold or something more precious. And I want to be respectful. But it takes getting to know someone to really understand what "respectful" looks like to them. And I don't know him very well yet. So I'm guessing. I told myself very firmly-- months ago now-- that if I ever DID date somebody ever again, I would NOT play the whole "how long am I supposed to wait before I call back?!" guessing game. No. And now, here I am. Wondering if I can call and tell him about my weekend on Sunday, or if I should wait until later in the week-- give him a chance to call me again. ...and I'm not sure there's any way to avoid hazarding a few guesses. For instance, I guess I should probably stop editing this blog post, and get some sleep.
I can tell right now that I need to create a new label for all the posts that are going to show up about dating, now that I'm actually out there trying to participate in it.
And-- Hey!-- How the hell do you know if a guy is the right age for you anymore?! It was easy when we were all in school together-- either he was in your classes or he wasn't. But now? ...Umm...
While the whole age-range of datability has expanded as I've grown up (at twelve, dating a guy two years older was like REALLY BOLD-- I mean, he's OLD!!!), and I've discovered that I'm now okay with someone ten years older than me, I think, until proven otherwise, on a case-by-case basis, maybe... TWENTY YEARS IS PUSHING IT. But that's me. And if I run into a couple with a greater range in age than what I would accept for myself, I try to make my judgement based on whether there is respect, appreciation, maturity and enjoyment from each person for the other or not-- because those are the only things I know for a fact should exist in every relationship regardless.
Okay. That was a seriously run-on sentence. But it's a valid question. The older we get, the harder it is for me to guess how old we are. And can I just tell you that I was accused of being petite and blonde over the phone today? By a very nice woman who lives in Georgia. She's never seen me before, but I just SOUNDED like a blonde to her. Along these same lines, a friend once shocked me to my toes by telling me that he would describe me as "perky." ME?? ReALLY?? But... I'm so BORING! ... and he gave me that "what planet does your mirror live on, really??" look, so I guess it's true. Me. Perky.
...And I'd forgotten about it, and gone back to thinking of myself as boring and not anything like those fun cheerful bouncy cheerleader types... I mean, really. I'm a librarian, man. ...Until I talked with this woman from Georgia. And then the man with the cats called. I found myself trying not to say "like" quite so often, and not being quite as ...uhh... twinkly and random?... in my responses to his conversation. I didn't want to come across as "young" or "immature" or ... "blonde" somehow... And when I realized what I was doing, I had to laugh at myself. Either he'll like me or he won't. And either I'll like him or I won't.
But pretending to anybody that I don't stand on one foot and sing Christmas carols to myself when I wash dishes is just silly. Because all you have to do is walk into the kitchen while I'm doing dishes, and you realize that this is EXACTLY what I do, people. HONESTLY. And, just as with the whole "perky" thing, I didn't even know I did that until one day my mom came home from work early, walked into the kitchen, and burst out laughing to the point of actual tears.
...sigh...
I don't think I have this hangup in person, however (the one about trying to appear mature), so I'm going to cross my fingers and hope that the next time CatMan calls, he'll be calling to invite me to do something face-to-face. And maybe, if he's nice, I'll even sing him a Christmas carol or two. Like.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)