What if...?

I have a friend, her name is Val. If you ever find a friend like Val, you should hold onto her for dear life. But you can't have my Val, she's mine. She's one of those amazing people who cares deeply about the welfare of those she loves-so deeply that she positively will not put up with any bullshit. She will attentively listen to me whine without interruption and then look me straight in the eyes and give me the business. She will chew my ass up one side and down the other…in love…because she cares.  Unless you've had a relationship like this with a friend, it's hard to describe. I'm never upset when she does this in fact I'm kind of relieved. The vast majority of the people in our lives just tell us what we want to hear, but she's having none of it. She isn't going to let me wallow to my own detriment-hell no.  She believes in the power of truth and she gives it to me straight. There's only one other person I have ever met who does the same thing- that is Mr. W.  Val is my Mr. W….for chick stuff.

Val played a part in pointing me in the direction of a life journey that I have been on for several months now. I was talking to her one day-more than likely just complaining about something-and I remember that she let me exhaust my verbal vomit, put her hands on my face, looked me in the eyes and said, “Ruth , you're afraid.  You are afraid of everything! I have never met someone who is more afraid." I remember being shell-shocked - afraid? Not a chance. I am neurotic, driven, emotional, and perhaps the tiniest bit controlling, but afraid? Nope. She was mistaken. But I couldn't get her words out of my mind. Val is not the kind of person to admonish just for the hell of it, so when she speaks truth into your life you sit up and listen.

In the months following our conversation, the idea of fear seem to be popping up everywhere- in every book, article, movie or news story I watched, read or listened to, there was always something about fear. I'm just self-involved enough that all these coincidental references to the topic had me thinking that I was about to break open some universal truth.  What happened was that the universal truth had always been there and it was about to break me open.

I began doing what I always do when something intriguing or nagging or just downright disturbing gets into my head-I read voraciously everything I can get my hands on. And you don't have to look far to find information on fear. It's everywhere. Most of the quotes we hear have become so common they are almost cliché, but if you read them, REALLY read them, you start to see an underlying truth…

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” – George Addair

“Why do you stay in prison when the door is wide open?” – Rumi

“May your choices reflect your hope, not your fears.” –Nelson Mandela,

“For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and self-control.” –  2 Tim. 1:7

“All procrastination is fear.”- Elizabeth Gilbert

“Perfectionism is a dream killer because it is just fear disguised as doing your best.” – Mastin Kipp,

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…” -1 John 4:18

“Fear is the path to the darkside.” – Yoda (that one is for Mr. W.)

“The enemy is fear.  We think it is hate, but it is fear.”- Gandhi

A pattern was starting to emerge.

As a woman, I have always been excellent at labeling my feelings and emotions. I label them and then I have subcategories and label those.

You have all seen the meme's:

I always felt I had a pretty good handle on what my various emotions were and how they affected my behavior.  But as I continued to read and think and look carefully at all of my life, I had to ask the question - What if maybe, just maybe, all the negativity, all of the feelings and experiences that we see as harmful or bad just your basic ‘darkside’ of the emotional spectrum-what if they are all a symptom? What if the problem is fear?”  I have always thought of hate as the blackest on the bad spectrum of emotions, but what if it isn't? What if it is fear? Things were beginning to shift for me.  But I am stubborn when it comes to personal growth and needed the point illustrated for me.  I was given the opportunity to learn this lesson a few months ago in an encounter where I made a complete and utter ass of myself.

Mr. W and I were out of town to see a dear friend of ours. I was enjoying my second glass of red wine and the evening was going smashingly well until a beautiful, petite 37-year-old woman had the audacity to sit down at our booth and look like she was 21.  The NERVE!   This woman, let's call her ummmm….”Chastity”... knew our friend, or a friend of our friend or something, so she plopped her skin tight, perfectly clad ass down to join us. At this point I was only in sarcastic mode-in general I tried to be supportive of “the sisterhood”-  you know, women helping women and all that-so when she ordered tequila I made only a snide remark about how “Grownups don't drink tequila…”  not yet knowing her true age. To which “Chastity” replied in an innocent tone, “Are 37-year-olds not allowed to drink tequila?” That was the comment that turned me into super bitch. I don't often go this route with people.  I am not sure if it was the wine or the woman but I officially became the worst version of myself.  I replied to her question, “Oh they can, but the smart ones don't.”   I won't embarrass myself further by going into more detail, but just know that was the NICEST thing I said to her for the rest of the night.   It all went seriously south from there. Granted the girl was wearing the same dress as Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman" and was a tad intoxicated but that should've inspired my pity not my ire.  Yet I continue to relentlessly scratch her with my sarcastic, rude and downright mean comments. It's doubtful that she remembered anything the next day, but I did. Mr. W certainly did and so did our friend. I was mortified.

After that engagement I was forced to look long and hard at why I behaved the way I did-it was so out of character yet I fell into it so easily and completely, I shocked even myself a bit. “Chastity” didn't do anything to me-(OK, I have to stop calling her that, in quotation marks no less!  I don't remember what her name is and that's just a little sarcasm that is continuing to poke through.  I'm sorry. There, I said it.) So where in the world did the ugliness of my response come from? That was when all the pieces fell into place. Fear.  It's always about fear.    Every negative emotion that leads to negative behavior….they are the symptoms.  FEAR is the problem. So what was I afraid of in that situation? Oh, so many things-losing my edge, getting old, mostly just the fear of losing significance. When I realized that all this negativity stems from fear, I was able to honestly examine my life.  This experience wasn't just about being a bitch-it was way more than that. It was about fear of losing significance (ok, ok, and also NOT being a bitch…that too).

So now when negative, emotions, or reactions manifest themselves in my life, I don't just take them at face value anymore. It is not just a “bad day” or “bad reaction.”  Instead, I ask myself, “What are you afraid of?” This one question has changed the game. So much so, that I can't help but share it. Try it out for yourself.  I dare you. C'mon, what are you afraid of?

* By the way, I have finally figured out how to add an email subscription button to my blog! So if you would like to have my posts sent directly to your email address, just enter it at the top and press subscribe! Don't be afraid!  (See what I did there?)

The struggle is real, ya'll....

For the past month I have been eating a Paleo diet, or living the Paleo lifestyle, or whatever the catchphrase it is these days that tries to make food restriction seen fabulous. For those of you who have been living under a rock for the past few years, Paleo is a way of eating that is supposed to mimic ancestral human beings-basically a hunter and gatherer diet i.e. meat, vegetables, fruits and nuts. Under NO circumstances is dairy, refined sugar (or fake sugar for that matter) legumes, grains or happiness allowed. Basically the slow chipping away of all things pleasurable in life. I jest...sort of.  The theory is that our bodies function with less disease and allergy when we eat the way our primal ancestors did before the days of fake food, refined sugar,sedentary civilization and dairy (past infancy).  I get it, I do. But I'm going to say it, even if it's totally not "Paleo" to do so, but here it is: nobody, but NOBODY, gives up carbs unless they want to lose weight. There, I said it. Carbs are AMAZING, sugar is delightful and cheese makes everything better. You don't give that shit up unless you're getting something back in return. 

My journey began after Christmas, but not because of a New Year's resolution, but because my "go-to" black sweats were feeling snug. You know the ones, every woman has them, they feel like cashmere and make your ass look fantastic. You put those suckers on when you want to relax or feel like your butt is getting too big. So when my black beauties began to betray me I knew I had to do something. 

I decided on Paleo basically because it's fairly straightforward and simple. If I was going to be in carb/sugar withdrawal, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle points, measuring, or weighing of any kind. So I stocked up on chicken, fruits, vegetables and almonds and quit buying bread, yogurt and milk...except for half-and-half. I know I'm breaking a Paleo law, but I refuse to give up my morning coffee the way I like it. I don't care what diet it is, THEY CAN TAKE MY COFFEE WHEN THEY PRY IT FROM MY COLD, DEAD, FINGERS!  Sorry, I'm cranky-I haven't had bread in weeks. 

Like all dieters, I set my expectations pretty realistically-I only expected to lose about 10 pounds a week. That didn't happen.  I have lost weight, but it's been slow. A pound here and a pound there. Still I have soldiered on. I'm as surprised as you are, trust me. But I think it's because I have seen a change, not so much in my body, but in my mind.

My relationship to food, and my body has always been a complicated one. I can say with all honesty that I can't remember a time when I have felt 100% comfortable in my own skin - literally. When I look at pictures of my 20 something self I'm amazed that a body so free of wrinkles and cellulite, so athletic and lean could have housed a girl so full of self-loathing. Because I remember what she was thinking-she was thinking about how fat she was going to look in that picture. I wish I could reach back in time and slap her across her skinny face. But I know I'm not the only woman like that.  I'm fairly certain that models pinch the skin on their emancipated forms in front of the mirror and spew hate talk to the image that they see there. 

I am going to be 37 next month and I am slowly making my peace with the fact that I'm never going to look 20 again. Because I'm going to be 37 next month. As much as I hate to admit it, I think that my new found acceptance stems, in part, from the Paleo philosophy. Paleo doesn't tout itself as a diet for weight loss primarily (though that IS a happy side effect), but instead as the most effective way to fuel your body for peak performance. This change in thinking may seem slight, but I think it's significant. Brand-new vehicles are amazing-they're sparkly and perfect, leather unmarked by time,a body that won't quit that can still handle a beating from the elements.  But if you've ever owned an old classic as I have, you know there is something pretty amazing about a vehicle that has seen some history and keeps on going. With vehicles like that you may have to protect them some, and you definitely have to give them the correct fuel, but if you do your part they will roar to life. And if you have ever pulled up next to one at a stoplight, you know there is nothing sexier than a well-maintained classic. 

So do I miss bread? Only at every meal, every single day. Is there a palatable replacement for cheese? No. There absolutely is not. Will I eat Paleo for the rest of my life? I don't know, maybe, but I won't do so just to get skinny. In the words of the great poet Robert Frost, I have miles to go before I sleep.  There are books to be read, mountains to be hiked, slopes to be skied and adventures to be had. To do that I may need a little more maintenance, and I will definitely need the right fuel. So I will continue this journey for now and attempt to have a good attitude about it.  Because having a body that can hike mountains, ski slopes,dance and move with ease is better than eating bread-even if it is only a little bit better.  And, side note, my black sweats fit again and frankly they make my world a happier place.

Ill advised Christmas adventures...or just another Thursday at my place.

I wasn't going to put up a Christmas tree this year.  I wasn't even going to decorate.  It is not that I hate the holiday, I mean how can ANYBODY hate a holiday that lasts almost a month and involves glitter, sparkly lights, several parties that makes wine at work...i.e., "the company Christmas Party,"  suddenly a socially acceptable situation?  Truthfully, I LOVE Christmas, and it has nothing to do with the presents (but, you know, if you were PLANNING on sending me one, don't let that last sentence stop you....). It has to do with what I like to call the "Anne of Green Gables" effect.

When I was growing up, I watched all of the "Anne of Green Gables" TV movies put out by PBS (as all young girls from conservative Christian households have) and fell in love with Gilbert Blithe (again, as all young girls from conservative Christian households have) and wished dearly that life was consisted of long dresses, elbow gloves, sleigh rides in winter and parties that involved couples dancing as opposed to "bumpin' and grindin'." Life was simple but magical and I decided right then, in all my 13 year old wisdom, that was the kind of life I wanted.

And then life bitch slapped me right across my naive face.  The reality of work, bills, children's schedules and all of the adult responsibilities that make up every day life, have made my "Anne of Green Gables" longings seem childish and very far away.  Magic?  Simplicity?  In this day in age, that shit costs a LOT of money.  Sleigh rides are like, $50 bucks a person and even finding a place where couples dance as opposed to having sex on the dance floor with clothes on, is near impossible. Besides, this year has been tough - emotionally, I just didn't feel very "Christmasy" and we are gone every year for the last week December on vacation, so decorating just seemed like a waste of time and energy.

But on December 2, 2015, the San Bernadino shooting took place.  And as I watched my T.V. change from "Kelly and Michael" to yet ANOTHER breaking news story involving mass casualties of foreign and domestic terror, I decided right then and there that I needed to do something. ANYTHING.  So I decided that I would put up a Christmas tree.  A real tree that smells like the woods and childhood.  I don't know how I hoped to curb the world's problems with a tree, but I DO know that the world could use a little glitter and some damn Christmas magic.

As with all of my ideas, this project was slightly more involved than I had originally planned.  It started off great - I went to the Christmas tree lot, lit by old fashioned light bulbs swinging from ropes and I found the perfect tree.  We have high ceilings so I went for the 8 and 1/2 footer.  It took two men to load it in the back of the truck... THAT should have been my sign.  But no.  I drove home, jumped in the truck bed and realized that I was, yet again, neck deep in a project where I had no idea what I was doing. But I was going to spread some Christmas cheer and put glitter, and sparkly lights and love into the universe, damn it, and the fact that I had a hundred pound tree in the back of the truck and no way to get it inside, was a minor detail.

To his credit, Mr. W had TOLD me he would help me with this project when he got off work (probably realizing all that was involved in this Christmas tree fiasco and wanting to spare me, and our house, possible destruction), but I thought that surprising him would be better.  (*Side note: my husband does not like surprises, even good ones.  But that doesn't keep me from trying...much to his chagrin).  When the guys at the Christmas tree lot asked if there would be someone to help me unload, I smiled and told them it would be just me!  They exchanged glances and wrapped the tree in rope... obviously they knew the scenario that was going to unfold.

Faced with a hundred pound tree and no way to get it in my house, I briefly considered using a wheelbarrow, but the physics of that maneuver just didn't seem to add up...even for this math dunce.
So I just decided to haul it in.  I took hold of that rope and dragged it into my house.  I think my neighbor's used to stare in disbelief at the shit that would routinely happen across the street.  But seeing me lug a giant tree across my driveway and attempt to heave it through a doorway where it doesn't fit, is pretty much a typical Thursday at this point.

It took me several hours, but I got the tree in and up and managed not to knock the TV off the wall, which surprised the hell out of Mr. W. (...it kinda surprised the hell out me too, but I didn't tell him that.)  I put so many glittery, sparkly ornaments and lights on that tree it practically shimmers and it DOES feel magical, and it DOES smell like childhood and I am SO glad that I persevered through the holiday blues (and common sense) and put the tree up. Every time I look at it I see my own personal pillar of wonder, magic, love, childhood, peace and the Christmasy "feels."  I also see a pillar of strength to overcoming impossible odds - like finding the goodness in a world that is in chaos...or getting a huge tree into your house by yourself without causing structural damage. So many things.

Pain in the ass though it may have been, I love my tree and I am going to sleep in my living room on the floor looking at the lights, drink peppermint schnapps in my hot chocolate, watch "Love Actually" for the 50th time, and be a hopeless romantic about life.  I may not be able to create an "Anne of Green Gables" world to live in but I still have more sparkle in my life than most and when it is not there, I am learning to create it - One ill-advised, unplanned, wonderful escapade at a time.
Merry Christmas!

What I would tell my twenty-something self...

Recently I was standing in line at Subway eavesdropping on the conversation between two young women in front of me and I am more and more convinced that youth is wasted on the young.  As I stood waiting in line to order my spinach salad, (no cheese, no croutons low-cal dressing on the side) the two girls were waxing on and on about how they had dieted ALL day, ran a mile and were STARVING.  I don’t generally have a “resting bitch face,” but I am pretty sure my face came pretty close to looking something like that.  Dieting A WHOLE day?  Really?  It’s noon!  I eat grass and leaves, log every morsel and workout like my life depends on it….for WEEKS, to lose a few pounds! The girls proceeded to order foot long pizza subs and talk about the new clothes they were going to buy because they had already lost a few pounds.  I seriously wanted to slap their perfect, unwrinkled faces.  That was me a mere ten...ok, ok, fifteen years ago and my GAWD if I could, here are some of the things I would love to tell my twenty-something self from the wisdom I’ve gained with experience.

1. Tequila will ALWAYS be a bad idea.  Every time.  EVEN when it’s top shelf.  EVEN when the cute guy across the bar bought it for you.  EVERY. TIME.  You will try and convince yourself that being half latina will negate the effects of tequila.  It won’t.  Order a glass of red wine and wake up without clutching either your head or the toilet.  And while we are on the topic of alcohol - remember, it DOES have calories.  Your thirty-something ass will thank you for your restraint.
2. You ARE NOT FAT.  It physically impossible.  Your ass is perfect, your thighs are smooth and your tits are perky.  Ignore the media, the voices in your head and all of the insecurities that will assuage you - you will never again look this good, this easily. Stop being neurotic and start enjoying the hell out of a body that requires very little maintenance.
3. Now that we have established that you are not fat, we can throw all that nervous energy into prevention.  Since your metabolism is such that you can simply “diet till noon” and drop a few pounds, focus on eating real food, cultivating active hobbies and those habits will serve you long after time and babies have wreaked havoc on your once perfect and effortless body.  Also, since we are talking prevention, wear sunscreen.  Just do it.  You will try to say that tanning makes you look thinner (see point #2 -you are NOT FAT), you will say fake bake is too expensive (but you will routinely drop two bills on a pair of jeans, you can budget it in).  Just put on the damn sunscreen - your thirty something self is begging you.  It is much easier to keep wrinkles at bay than to try and get rid of them.
4. Do not get married.  DON’T DO IT.  Your twenties are for experiences to help establish who you are as an individual.  To help you narrow not only who you are, but what you want in a partner.  Travel.  Read more books.  Go to school. Move.  Try out different careers if you want, just don’t get married.  Seriously - you are going to routinely have conversations with your girlfriends about the importance of finding a signature scent and coffee drink-do you really think you are the kind of chick who is ready to choose a life partner. No.  You are not.
5. When it comes to men, please remember that starving with an artist, sleeping on a futon on the floor and having no money for basic necessities is a surefire way to drain all the romance out of being bohemian.  If you must, have the experience, but then see point #4.  
6. It really does all work out in the end.  You find a career that you love and fulfills you.  You make peace with your body and realize that a healthy,functioning, active body is a blessing denied to many and THAT is why you take care of it-drink water, eat real food, put on sunscreen, floss.  And even though you will be lonely sometimes, trust me, the man of your dreams really is on his way to meet you - but he needs to have some experiences in HIS twenties to be ready for you.  Be patient.  Don’t settle.  It will be worth it. Because sister, if you think your twenties are the shit, believe me, your thirties are going to be bitchin’.  

           You will likely listen to none of this, which is what will give you so many interesting

experiences in your twenties (and some great material when you start writing!),                  
 but if you walk away with nothing else, be sure to wear sunscreen.  I really cannot overstate
the importance of wearing sunscreen.

Pushing Pause on the Neurosis to Give Thanks.

It has been an unforgivably long time since I posted and I am truly sorry!  but I will say that it has been for good reasons.  One of my favorite expressions is “You need to get your house in order” - and not just because I am an anal-retentive clean freak, but because it speaks to so many levels of the human experience.  Our house is where we live, physically, mentally and spiritually and this summer has been my personal journey towards getting my house in order.  

As I have written about my job loss and my struggle to make sense of personal worth in the wake of my ego crushing rejection, you have seen the highlights...or lowlights as the case may be.  And let me reassure, in case you have any doubt, I was ten times more neurotic through the ordeal than anything my writing may have conveyed.  Mr. W. will back me up on that.  I am not a person that deals with change well - not that any of us enjoy being thrown outside our comfort zone, but finding a happy medium to navigate the storms of life is just not my bag.  I tend to be a bit more like Mindy Kaling whose philosophy is “I hate moderation.  I either wanna be a monk or a Baz Luhrmann film, but nothing in between.”  Word.  Thus my quest to put my house in order.  Because let me tell you it gets messy when you are practicing yoga one day and glitter painting your face while dancing in the backyard the next (....there may have been some vino involved with the glitter dancing, I’m certain that almost goes without saying).  

Putting my house in order has entailed some interesting experiments, some of which I have already detailed and some you will get to hear about soon and it has definitely been a sliding scale between successfully balancing my chi and just utterly forgetting that I am even a grown up making for some interesting stories..  

So, why have I been so preoccupied?  Well, I got a job.  Yessiree, and I have been “adulting” like crazy.  This was one of those fairy tale endings that you really, REALLY hope for in life but rarely get.  It makes for INCREDIBLE living, but not quite as interesting storytelling.  But since you have all so graciously read, laughed, consoled and basically propped my deflated pride up for the last few months, I MUST tell you!  

I was hired to work at my dream job.  I just didn’t realize that it would be a dream job until I had been here for a few days!  I am currently doing what I love and working from home at a different online public high school.  I so enjoyed my co-workers at my previous job that I didn’t think it would be possible to find that same type of camaraderie anywhere else.  Though I dearly miss the friends I made at my previous workplace, my new peers have taken me in, encouraged me and I am already finding my stride. I work for an amazing school leader, someone that I can look to for guidance and mentorship, a large (and growing!) team of competent peers and the opportunity to teach students from my home.  To say that I have been blessed is an understatement.  

When something bad happens in life you console yourself with the idea that there is purpose behind it all and that, eventually, it will all work out - and I believe that sentiment! - but you rarely get the opportunity to actually watch everything come full circle.  This time I did.  This may not be a blog post filled with drama or intrigue, but it is one filled with humble thanksgiving, and since you have all so kindly allowed me into your reading space to record my journey, I wanted to share my thanks with you.  

What "Orange Is The New Black" Has Taught Me

J

 Two months of unemployment and right on schedule I have landed in the depressed stage of mourning.  I am trying to look at the bright side - things have gotten better since middle school - obviously (see the picture above….).  Still, I’m no doctor, but it’s been three days since I washed my hair, the only clothes I have worn all week are sweat pants and I have watched a truly shocking amount of “Orange is the New Black.” Entire days worth of that show.  My husband, to his credit, hasn’t really complained about the fact that we have had the depression standard food fare - pizza, chinese and taco bell.  Then again he may just be a tad frightened by his obviously unbalanced, homeless looking wife who has spent her days watching a show that details how to engage in prison violence using a toothbrush and gum.

I decided that three days was enough.  I HAD to get up.  At the beginning of the summer I was doing so well- I cleaned out most of my life, throwing away nearly everything and anything that did not bring me joy.  I scrubbed my house top to bottom, I planted a garden and even started reading and writing every day.  But when all of my cathartic purging was done the fact that I LITERALLY had nothing else to do descended on me like a dark cloud and since I had LITERALLY nothing else to do, I went back to bed and I have been there for several days.  However, I am running out of “Orange is the New Black” episodes to watch so I have to get out of bed and do something.  And, honestly, I am not sure if a show devoted to life inside a women’s prison and the organized crime that brought the girls there is the best choice for me to binge watch while I am wallowing in depression about losing my job and plotting my fictitious revenge on my former boss.  Seriously, I should not know so much about shanking.  My mind is a dark place.  

So I decided I would do something that seemed to bring me so much joy before - throw shit out. I thought I had gone through EVERY part of my house, but there was one place that I didn’t touch.  The garage.  I hate organizing the garage.  It is hot, dusty and greasy and when I am done even my teeth feel gritty.  I absolutely hate it.  If I wasn’t depressed before, I was definitely depressed looking at the mess I decided to tackle.  But I kind of felt like this was a “last chance” for me.  If I didn’t do something, there was a real possibility that I was going to slip into a depression that lasted a lot longer than just three days.  So I grabbed some garbage bags and got ready to start throwing things away.  Thankfully my phone rang allowing me a few minutes to go sit in my bed and chat.  

It was not an offer of employment.  It was, instead, a well-meaning friend calling to say hi and offer the same sentiments that I have heard for several weeks, “It will all work out,” “It’s probably for the best!” “You were too good for that place,” and my personal favorite, “It’s because there is something better out there for you!”  I hung up the phone and was shocked by how incredibly pissed off I was.  It took me a few more procrastinating minutes to figure out why I was so upset. You see, those sentiments may be true, but then again they may be just a pile of bull shit.  I would like to think that I am so incredibly talented and wonderful that OF COURSE there is something better for me on the horizon, but the reality is that if I was really so indispensable, I would never have gotten axed in the first place.  If there is one thing that watching 30 straight hours of “Orange Is The New Black” has taught me, is that life is not fair.  And the universe doesn’t owe me a damn thing - least of all a job.  

I went back to the garage inspired by irritated fervor and mulled over the idea of what I am “owed” as I tossed half used spools of weed whacker rope and old gas cans into 55 gallon black trash bags.  And I have to admit that coming to terms with the idea that I am NOT the center of cosmos stings a bit.  Looking around at the bags and boxes of stuff that I have being housing, free of rent in my garage and on my dime, it is pretty obvious that the universe has already given more than my due.  I was born into a free country, I am alive and aware enough to BE depressed, to HAVE a job to lose and to wallow in my own personal pity party. And that is just the temporal stuff.  I have also been blessed with a mind that functions correctly, health, children that are as well-adjusted as they can be with me as their mother and a husband that kisses me when I have been crying and my nose is snotty and puts up with my crazy and then laughs good naturedly when I write about for the world to hear.  When it comes right down to it I have it all really - I mean in terms of the big cosmic stuff.  The job, well, that will come in time. And until it does, I will keep using this time to put my life in order and maybe find a Pinterest project to work on instead of sharpening my skills on how to turn a toothbrush into a deadly weapon.

Pissed off and Post-it's

Today has been a nice change of pace.  Today, I am furious.  My previous job has become a bad breakup.  No longer the “thanks for all the great memories we are moving on as better people thankful for the experience” breakup.  Nope, it has developed into more of the type of relationship you have in your early 20’s.  You know, the pretty but damaged boy, the kind that plays drums, consistently forgets to call laying a solid foundation of self-doubt in the relationship,  has a futon on the floor and no checking account – that is where we are. 

And true to form, at first, I behaved like that insecure twenty-year-old girlfriend that attaches herself to the bad boy.

It was my dream job, the one I always wanted, pursued relentlessly and, when I got it, only half believed that such good fortune could be mine.  I was the starry eyed girl adoring and loving the hell out of my “job in a leather jacket.”  I talked about it to all my friends, couldn’t help but bring it into every conversation and never once was unfaithful.  I LOVED my job.  I would go out of my way to be sure that I not only did my work, I OVER did it and had it finished early.  I was constantly trying to come up with ways to make my job happy by staying up late to streamline processes or putting together a PowerPoint with animation and music.  I was the over excited, slightly clingy girl that loved her job maybe just a bit more than it loved me.  

And, as these things often do, it turned into a bad relationship slowly, and then all at once.  I found that emails, and calls were not returned, unless it had to do with something negative, but it was ok, I just figured “hey, things are busy right now, don’t worry about it.”  So I threw myself into making things even better - I organized graduation, I put together prom,  developed action plans, I over documented and spent time learning new system platforms.  I was unsettled by the shift in my relationship, but I just figured it was a rough spell.

Then I got my “Dear John” letter and it devastated me.  “Thank you for your service.  Your contract will not be renewed.  Please return all equipment immediately.”  I stared at the email for several minutes mouth agape.  Why?  I did my best.  Better than my best- I reached for greatness.  Why didn’t my job want me? And if that wasn’t enough, the break up was on email?  Really?  I think this clip from the TV show “Sex and the City” sums up what it feels like when you get the email….or “post-it” as the case may be- you can see it here: The Post-it 1  Reliving the experience, I am moving through the “stages of grief” from pathetic longing that stems from shock and pain, and into the, ‘oh so much more empowering stage of anger.  I love this stage.  As with any shitty break-up the aftermath started by leaving me breathless – there was desperate sadness that the job I loved so much didn’t want me for reasons I could only guess at.  So I emailed, called, even “dropped by” in the hope that I could get “closure” some “answers” really anything.  But there were no emails returned, no phone calls answered and at some point the remaining shreds of my dignity demanded I stop begging on the door step and just move on.  And that is when the anger came  in and it has given me all kinds of proactive energy.  I have found myself burning with fury at the shittiness of the whole thing. Here is a clip from later in the episode when Carrie confronts her ex’s friends- just click here:  The Post-It 2…..I so relate to the fury.  I too deserved an explanation.  Two years of my life, for what, a “this has been great, but it’s just not working; It’s not you, it’s just business” email?  The unfairness of the whole situation still has me shaking on the inside.  

And then, to add serious insult to injury, I’ve been called into a court hearing. It would appear that my former place of employment is contesting the fact that I am claiming unemployment benefits.  Normally, this would have caused an outburst of tears but right now all I feel is PISSED OFF.  They fired me and now they are upset that I am claiming what is mine?  It is a good thing I am in the anger stage grief.  Instead of curling up in bed and crying myself to sleep over a glass of wine at two in the afternoon, I marched my ass to an attorney’s office and got some legal representation. 

Sitting in my lawyer’s office it felt nice to vent about how I was treated badly - I was used and then tossed to the side.  How hurt I was to find out that my position was posted before I was even let go.  But the great thing about anger is that makes you feel powerful, no longer a victim.  I may not be the most amazing employee to grace the face of this planet but, damn it, I sure as hell am not the worst, and I know I deserve better. 

The seven stages of grief state that depression will be what hits me next, but while the anger lasts, I am going to let it rebuild all the self-doubt that this bad break-up left me with, remember the lessons that I am learning and try to choose better the next time around.  Bad boys, bad jobs and bad relationships– in the end they all break up with you on something like a post-it.  

Fear and a Fat Bottom

It is 8:15 am and I have already been searching the internet for two hours to find another job. Strangely, this feverish onset to locate work was ignited because I was just offered a job.  A great job at a brand new school.  I was offered this job as I was driving out of the parking lot after my interview. I can't deny that my ego enjoyed the boost, but somehow, the offer also sent me spiraling.  I didn’t expect to have to make a decision so quickly, I figured I would have some time to get comfortable being unemployed...maybe get a few Pinterest crafts completed or meet my neighbors.  I can’t decide if this job is fate or some sly spirit trying to steer me off a path that is less certain but so much more rewarding.  

It comes down to this - do what makes sense, or follow a dream?… A dream that could very well be made of fairy dust and end in financial ruin.  Walt Disney and most romantic comedy’s whisper “follow you heart,” but my 36 year old brain with two college degrees, four kids and two dogs screams “Don’t be a fucking idiot!  Take the job and make your mortgage payment!!” 

I am an introvert.  I like home, I like solitude, I like quiet and I am extremely productive when I work in such arenas.  Why I didn’t figure this out about myself back in college, I have no idea.  Instead I choose a job where I am continually surrounded by people.  For eleven years I worked in an industry that left me wane and depleted as my vitality was drained away in a field that did not align to my personality.  Until I landed my dream job. The job I lost.  Bringing me back to square one and giving me the choice - take the newly offered “makes sense” job or continue to search furiously for a way to earn money that will not slowly eat away at my soul.  What to do, what to do....?

It is all about fear.  Fear of not having enough money, fear of losing momentum in the job market, fear of being trapped, fear of failure, fear..fear...fear.  It is a nasty, insidious enemy that creeps in like a fog through every crack in my life. Ghandi said, “The enemy is fear.  We think it is hate, but it is fear.”  And making a decision based on fear seems wrong.  Deciding on a course of action spurred by fear will only make me smaller and keep me trapped in a cage disguised as safety and responsibility.  

My husband  is a man with very few fears.  He tells me to chase my dreams without reservation and is always saying things like "it will work out" and "we will find a way,"  but W. is the kind of extremely resourceful guy that can fix cars, and build backyard structures and use power tools - if he told me we would we could venture to live in the wilderness with duct tape, a tarp and a pocket knife, I would believe him.  I on the other hand have very few useful life skills which contributes a great deal to fear in my life.  I'm not stupid, I just....well, my skill set lies in the realm of academia.   And I am clumsy.  A really dangerous combo. This picture is me.

Mr. W. likes to tell a story about the time we were in Alaska hiking the the Chilkoot trail - a treacherous and steep trail that extends from Dyea, Alaska to Bennet, B.C. and was the main access route to the Yukon before the introduction of the railroad in 1900.  During the course of our hike several members of the group took hard spills down the side of the mountain as we made our way over but, to his great delight and surprise, Mr. W. didn't have to chase my ass down the steep slopes.  I was feeling pretty smug about my accident free adventure as we walked through Skagway, Alaska later that day and my man seemed pretty proud of me too...until...We were crossing the street, the PAVED street, and I somehow ended up face down, spread eagle, in the middle of the road.  I almost broke my nose. The crowds of people surrounding me were aghast but my husband assured them this was not the first time something like this happened ( and it wasn't) and  I would be fine.  I think this story helps illustrate why I have a fear of many things (pavement, microwaves, boiling eggs...boiling eggs IN microwaves) and why my husband is a tad more self-assured.

The morning was getting too serious, what with the job offer sitting on my desk and all the thoughts about fear and adult decisions, so I did what I always do when being a grown up gets a little "too real" - I pretend there is no problem to be solved.  The good 'ole "ostrich in the sand” approach.  I decided to go shopping.

I don't know why I do this to myself.  I don't even really enjoy shopping much and I think that it is largely due to the fact that the styles of today compliment "Twiggy" and I have a body type like "Monroe."  It's not that I am fat, exactly, more fat bottomed.  I have a body meant to be clothed with material cinched tight at the waist and a skirt that flows generously over my substantial thighs.  That is a look I can rock.  But house dresses from the '50's aren't really in style anymore.  Nope, my generation has skinny jeans and graphic  print leggings. The struggle of sliding denim and stretch over my legs only to have the article come to a sharp halt every time I get mid-thigh is demoralizing. Especially because once I manage to get the pants all the way up my legs, fabric screaming, I end up with four inches of loose, extra material around my waste.  Thank heaven for yoga pants.  I really can't stress enough how yoga pants have changed my life.  But, a girl can't ALWAYS wear yoga pants, especially to job interviews, thus the shopping trip.

As I sat in the dressing room annoyed, yet again, that I have size 12 legs but a size 8 waist and sweating a bit from my latest battle with clothing that was supposed to be "stretchy," I realized that it was ok to be a little bit nervous about my life right now, to be a little bit AFRAID, because my fear wasn't keeping me from taking chances. My fear comes from having an adventurous soul. I have taken chances, and I have succeeded some, but failed plenty. But I still keep putting myself out there, timid though I may be at times because, let's face it, nobody likes to fail. I am going to forgive myself today for feeling afraid of the unknown.  I am going to forgive myself for being an ostrich that hides her head in a dressing room full of stretchy clothing.  I am going to forgive myself for purchasing the 'oh so trendy but 'oh so age inappropriate tribal print leggings.  Because as Nelson Mandela said so beautifully,  "I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."

So I'm going to take a leap of faith - whether that means starting a new career at 36 or attempting to walk in the "stretchy" skinny jeans of modern day fashion.  Because when you are born with adventure in your heart, potential accidents in every movement and an ass like mine,  putting it all out there is really your only choice. It does take courage, and, in my case the real likelihood of a few bumps and bruises, but I believe that is called "living."

Musings while on the toilet and other things...

Today I went to go and turn in my computer to my former place of employment and was really looking forward to giving my former boss the “finger” with my eyes…you know, because I am so mature.  But she wasn’t there, so that was disappointing.  My guess is that she isn’t really thinking much about me, at least not nearly as much I am thinking about her.  My mind dallies on just the typical things - imagining that she ruins the organization and leaves surrounded by disgrace and shame as the administration and Governing Board beg me back realizing the error of their ways in letting such an excellent employee go.  I politely decline at first, so busy with my successful writing career that I fear I will be unable to offer the position my full attention.  But they continue to beg me, so as my former employer cleans out her desk and slinks away, I humbly take the post guided by altruistic motives and save the organization.  Oh , and her boyfriend dumps her too. Like I said, just the typical things.

I know, I know…I am supposed be surrounding myself with things that bring me joy, I am supposed to be seeing that this is a blessing in disguise and moving on,  surprising the hell out of everyone by how well I am doing.  But that was “me” last week.  “Me” today is hoping my former boss maybe has her identity stolen by a couple of cracked out college kids on a shopping spree in Europe.  Recovery is a sliding scale.

The cliché says, “it isn’t personal, it’s business.”  I am going to tell you a truth – it is business when you are the person who is firing people, it is personal when you are the one left without a job.  After delighting myself for an embarrassingly long time thinking about my former boss stubbing her pinky toe on the sharp edges of furniture repeatedly or being led away in handcuffs for aiding terrorists or something,  I started asking myself “why?”  Why is this so personal to me? I was becoming increasingly unhappy at my job, my boss obviously did not want me there, I DO only want joyful things in my life, and, strangely enough, this situation has actually jump started my passion for writing again– so WHY do I still imagine scenarios where my former boss finds her car egged and tires slashed?

The answer shocked me almost as much as I am sure it is going to shock you – the reason I am sitting on the toilet thinking about the day her house catches on fire and all her photographs and favorite shoes are destroyed is because she bruised the hell out of my pride.  I mean, she didn’t want me….ME, as an employee!!!  I told you, you would be shocked.  Who wouldn’t want me? Smart, educated, fun…maybe a little scattered at times, with opinions I should keep to myself, and the tiniest of control issues, but come on, those things are adorable.  To me.  And Mr. W.  Ok, my husband just informed me that those last three are maybe not my strongest selling point (but I think that is just his way of telling me I am practically perfect in every way).  Oh, and I sometimes have trouble really hearing what people are saying to me.

I guess there is some small comfort realizing that the reason this situation still smarts has less to do with losing a job and more to do with my own bruised ego…and maybe having to face a few teeny tiny areas I might need to work on. But, as Anne Lamott writes, “Being ok is going to have to be an inside job.”  I can’t hustle for worthiness through my job, or my education or just being so damn fucking fantastic everybody should want me to work for them.  Nope.  It is going to have to come from being enough.  On the inside.  Even without a job.  Even with the itty bitty flaws I possess.  My pride WILL stop smarting…and it will probably happen the moment I start facing the areas in my own life that could use a tune up.  This is not that moment, however - right now I am still enjoying the hell out of thinking about the boss lady’s house burning down again.  But this time she only lost her shoes, not photographs.  Baby steps. I’ll get there.

Joy

Today I woke up happy for the first time since I lost my job.  I still had the slow realization of unemployment that descends every morning, but it was not accompanied by the usual wash of grief and desire to immediately pull the covers over my head and go directly back to sleep.  Instead,  I got out of bed, the pajamas still stayed on all day, but, well... baby steps.

The lack of gainful employment still buzzes in the back of my head like a low frequency television static all of the time carrying with it the worries about money, career opportunities, gaps in my resume and an occasional drift into “what if I become homeless, lose my family and end up a hobo traveling the rails?” But I am working on staying away from negative thoughts….specifically those thoughts of the "hobo" persuasion. Instead I am choosing to focus on the things that bring me joy instead.

I have recently been intrigued by the minimalist movement – surrounding yourself with only what you need and what brings you joy.  I began looking at this idea months before I was laid off.  The basic premise is that, in modern western society, we simply have too much – too much stuff, too much entertainment, too much food, too much activity…just TOO much and most of what we have does not bring us joy.  Even more tragic, most of what we have we don’t even use.  Instead we have busy, hectic lives filled with items we don’t need, want or love that cost us money, space and energy stealing our joy and preventing us from appreciating what will truly bring satisfaction.

About 2 months ago I started minimizing my life.  I started slow and small and in an unexpected place – with television. Though this was not a new concept for me, I grew up most of my life without TV, I have had satellite since my mid-twenties and the sound of the TV has become a sort of background soundtrack to my life.  But around the time I started looking into minimalism, my husband took a new position and began school.  This shift meant a change in our lives that included significantly less time to hang out watching the big screen as most recreational time was now consumed with studying.  So we decided to get rid of our satellite.  That one small decision brought so much relief and freedom from something I didn't even realize I was a slave to – no more fighting the pull of TV to get work done, no more paying for satellite boxes that sat in empty rooms with nobody watching the programming, no more $200 satellite bill each month – I decided that simplifying and minimizing needed to happen in every area of my life.

Next to go was the satellite radio, the expensive car washes, 5$ a day designer coffee's, and most recently I have started going through my entire house with the help of Marie Kondo’s book "The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up" and keeping only that which serves a purpose and brings me joy. If you have not read this book, get it immediately, you wont be sorry.

Going through every nook and cranny of my life has been quite an undertaking and I am not even close to being finished, but I don’t have a job, so I have quite a lot of time on my hands right now.

This morning when my husband left for work, I kissed him good bye and, instead of pouring myself a morning glass of wine, I grabbed my books and coffee to do some reading.  My son grabbed his book and joined me in the back yard.  Before the summer began we all agreed to read one book a week – my husband reads his textbooks (for now), and my son and I choose books that bring us joy and read them- a little bit each day.   As I sat with the morning sun warming my body, and watching those I love reading, studying and growing, listening to the sounds of our quiet neighborhood and nature around me, it hit me – even though I loved my job, it was quite possibly the best job I ever had, maybe….just maybe it’s usefulness in my life to bring me joy had come to an end.  There were signs.  Work had become increasingly tense, there were issues with administration and management, I spent a great deal of time crying after specific exchanges and I was exhausted.  If I was honest, though I loved many of my co-workers, my job had not brought me much joy in recent months.  So I decided to sit down, write a letter of thanks to all of the co-workers that had brought so much light into my life, thank them for the opportunity and close my work account- it was time to tidy up this part of my life, and let it go.

I still have unanswered questions, hurt and sadness but I know they will fade as I continue to surround myself only with things that bring me joy.  And that transformation is happening slowly – from my closets, to my car, to my work.  Life is too short to be burdened by anything short of the miraculous.  And today I have had miracles aplenty.