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."