The night when the box came I'd buried your name. Irritated with the intrusive sounds of the courtyard gate welcoming the scattered leaves and the doorbell ringing loudly, I dropped it on the floor underneath the edge of the breakfast bar. I cursed the postman for acting like a mischievous teenage lover, running away before I could see who was there. I said I wasn't going to look until the next morning. I had a scene to write, twenty pages to script by an impending deadline that kept screaming "miss me and you'll lose what you thought you wanted."
But I couldn't take the anticipation of not knowing. Patience has never been my virtue. So I stopped writing and I tore the tape off one of the edges. I skimmed over the letters and the paperwork, tossing the quarterly magazine full of contest and publishing opportunities to the side. The outside covers of the books were purple, lavender. How fitting, I thought. I didn't open the one bearing your name. I just stared for a moment and smiled. How amazing that the universe seems to keep showing me signs of "full speed ahead" whenever I'm ready to pack up my bags and turn around.
I remembered you from last time. How could I not. You didn't look like the others with your pristine image and the black dress with embroidered butterflies in blue and green. You spoke of the Appalachian mountains and delivered your image of the world with a smile and a confidence that I recognized. You came from that world I'd decided to leave. The world I no longer needed a map for. And now I was stuck in this one without a compass or a lighthouse to guide me. I thought perhaps you might understand and offer some insight about this journey from one side of the universe to the other. I thought maybe I would switch genres for a semester so I could get the chance to feel at home. The universe must have heard me loud and clear.
What strikes me is that I don't have to do anything but keep walking. There must be something going on here. Something that is making everything fall into place like a stack of dominoes seemingly out of control. I can't give up. I can't stop. I have to see this through. I have to remain strong, but not so strong that I stop myself from feeling. I have to stop saying "I can't" and say "I can."
Humans are like butterflies that can't see their colors before they emerge from their cocoons. But once they fly, the entire world notices every single shade.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Purely Conditional
This week I've been thinking about how our responses and perceptions are largely determined by our past experiences. I had this wonderful epiphany at my day job as I suddenly realized why one of my bosses is periodically asking me how I'm doing with my new assignment. It's not because she thinks I'm incompetent or can't handle it, but because she doesn't want me to get burnt out or hate what I'm doing. As silly as it seems, this kind of consideration from an employer is kind of foreign territory for me after the past five and a half years.
I love the fact that I can actually call in sick and not get raked over the coals for it and come in late with no consequences and guilty looks if the roads are bad or the power goes out at my house. I appreciate the fact that I'm not expected to work more than 40 hours, have a set schedule, and can take comp time if I ever get into a situation where I go over those 40 hours. The 100 percent employer paid insurance plan is nice too and I certainly appreciate the fact that I'm not treated like a complete idiot if I need to go to a co-worker or a boss for assistance. And just about every week there's free brownies, zucchini bread, donuts, pizza or some type of treat for everyone in the office.
Every month there's staff engagement meetings and the Director of Technology actually took the time to have a private meeting with me as a new employee. He thinks it's important to find out what his employees think about the organization and the department. To top it off he sincerely listened to my suggestions and put one of them into practice. It was a simple request to help introverts like me come up with things to say in those meetings. I was kind of caught off guard and flabbergasted. Something like that would have been completely ignored and discounted with my former employer. I would have been made to feel like an outsider and alien for even bringing it up.
They tell me that they think I have "so much" to offer and that I was hired for my communication skills and confidence in dealing with people. When I hear this, I automatically think huh? Wasn't it my former boss who used to say that my weakness was communication and that I didn't do this at all? It was assumed that because I was "quiet," came to work and didn't get involved in office politics that I was "very unapproachable" and "extremely sensitive." Intellectually I realize my former boss wasn't very adept at understanding people different from herself. Or perhaps she was criticizing parts of herself that she was told she shouldn't be. It still stung at the time. It still does. No one had ever told me things like that or been so mean. I asked a few friends and former co-workers to make sure. They all said "no" and I still had a hard time believing it wasn't true. But then again this is the company that likes to point out and focus on any little weakness rather than what's being done right. They would also rather ignore the fact that their own culture and structure creates the situation rather than find some way to make it better.
I've figured out that it's going to take some time to get reconditioned and retrain my internal responses. Rather than assuming I'm the target of someone's dislike of my personality or inability to achieve perfection, I'm going to have to learn to realize that some people want to be supportive and I can depend on them. But this lens isn't just from my former employer. I'm not trying to blame them or point the finger away from myself. There's a reason why I was drawn to that pit to begin with. I was conditioned to think that kind of treatment was okay, normal even. I didn't want to take the time to see that another reality was possible.
We make choices and then we wake up and stare blankly at our surroundings, wondering how we got here and why our lives are a certain way. Sure, we can change it but then we would have to consider the possibility that our responses are triggered by something that isn't really there. It's automatic, it's robotic, it's programmed, it's not real. But we only see what we think we know as truth and then we end up re-creating the past nightmare we weren't even in to begin with.
The universe is funny. We think. We wish. We hope. And somehow we get these lessons and these external fulfillments that end up revealing that we've been asleep and struggling because we've let our conditioning poison our eyes. It's true that the bad exists. But it's also true that it only continues to if we allow it to become real.
I love the fact that I can actually call in sick and not get raked over the coals for it and come in late with no consequences and guilty looks if the roads are bad or the power goes out at my house. I appreciate the fact that I'm not expected to work more than 40 hours, have a set schedule, and can take comp time if I ever get into a situation where I go over those 40 hours. The 100 percent employer paid insurance plan is nice too and I certainly appreciate the fact that I'm not treated like a complete idiot if I need to go to a co-worker or a boss for assistance. And just about every week there's free brownies, zucchini bread, donuts, pizza or some type of treat for everyone in the office.
Every month there's staff engagement meetings and the Director of Technology actually took the time to have a private meeting with me as a new employee. He thinks it's important to find out what his employees think about the organization and the department. To top it off he sincerely listened to my suggestions and put one of them into practice. It was a simple request to help introverts like me come up with things to say in those meetings. I was kind of caught off guard and flabbergasted. Something like that would have been completely ignored and discounted with my former employer. I would have been made to feel like an outsider and alien for even bringing it up.
They tell me that they think I have "so much" to offer and that I was hired for my communication skills and confidence in dealing with people. When I hear this, I automatically think huh? Wasn't it my former boss who used to say that my weakness was communication and that I didn't do this at all? It was assumed that because I was "quiet," came to work and didn't get involved in office politics that I was "very unapproachable" and "extremely sensitive." Intellectually I realize my former boss wasn't very adept at understanding people different from herself. Or perhaps she was criticizing parts of herself that she was told she shouldn't be. It still stung at the time. It still does. No one had ever told me things like that or been so mean. I asked a few friends and former co-workers to make sure. They all said "no" and I still had a hard time believing it wasn't true. But then again this is the company that likes to point out and focus on any little weakness rather than what's being done right. They would also rather ignore the fact that their own culture and structure creates the situation rather than find some way to make it better.
I've figured out that it's going to take some time to get reconditioned and retrain my internal responses. Rather than assuming I'm the target of someone's dislike of my personality or inability to achieve perfection, I'm going to have to learn to realize that some people want to be supportive and I can depend on them. But this lens isn't just from my former employer. I'm not trying to blame them or point the finger away from myself. There's a reason why I was drawn to that pit to begin with. I was conditioned to think that kind of treatment was okay, normal even. I didn't want to take the time to see that another reality was possible.
We make choices and then we wake up and stare blankly at our surroundings, wondering how we got here and why our lives are a certain way. Sure, we can change it but then we would have to consider the possibility that our responses are triggered by something that isn't really there. It's automatic, it's robotic, it's programmed, it's not real. But we only see what we think we know as truth and then we end up re-creating the past nightmare we weren't even in to begin with.
The universe is funny. We think. We wish. We hope. And somehow we get these lessons and these external fulfillments that end up revealing that we've been asleep and struggling because we've let our conditioning poison our eyes. It's true that the bad exists. But it's also true that it only continues to if we allow it to become real.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Letting Go is a Battle
Sometimes when I'm in the middle of a really good book, I have to put it down because its language and its message inspires me to write. So that's what I'm doing at this moment. Staring at my computer screen, mind suddenly drifting to a make-believe scene and a set of words that's decided to resurface today. Of course at this point in my life journey I'm not so sure anymore how "make-believe" that scene is, or the countless others I probably know too well for someone who never thought she'd grow up to sound like she'd been "ripped from the script." But anyhow, those words are about how letting go is a battle and a fight that takes a little help, a little courage, a little trust, a little hope, and a whole lot of belief.
The battle of letting go can take on many forms in our lives. They may be different for each of us. Who can say what they'll end up being....disease, financial hardship, death, dying, forgiveness, transformation, acceptance, self-discovery, or the resolve to finally make yourself listen to the truth. As much control as we think we have, sometimes our higher self knows better. Sometimes it's not going to let us get away that easy this time with our ability to exercise free will. We've already done that and look where it got us. Time's up, baby. It's not about you anymore. It's time to let go of who you think you are and master this lesson so you can move on to the next one. It's time to serve the rest of who you are-the rest of humanity that you once were and might someday be again. The universe holds more miracles and mysteries within itself than we can ever comprehend. Listen. Pay attention. Connect the dots. Stop resisting and start accepting.
The funny thing is we already know what we need to do, we've known it for a long time, decades even. We just have a hard time doing it. We have a hard time believing in something that doesn't make sense. Letting go and surrendering to something we don't understand yet, that's our battle, that's our fight. It's probably something we don't even like, something that certainly doesn't serve our ego or what we think is in our best interests. In order to do it, we have to shut that half of our brain up (as a wise MFA friend kept repeating to me in June) that doubts, tries to discredit, tries to justify, and tries to preserve the lifesaver that ends up drowning us anyway.
As tough, sad, scary, and completely ludicrous on paper as it is, we don't need a lifesaver. When we let go, we find out just how strong we already were and that we already knew how to navigate and save ourselves. And when we let go, we release what was keeping us from seeing possibility.
We go for it anyway. Despite the risks. Despite the consequences. Because it keeps pulling, it keeps pointing, it keeps whispering until it gives us no other choice.
The battle of letting go can take on many forms in our lives. They may be different for each of us. Who can say what they'll end up being....disease, financial hardship, death, dying, forgiveness, transformation, acceptance, self-discovery, or the resolve to finally make yourself listen to the truth. As much control as we think we have, sometimes our higher self knows better. Sometimes it's not going to let us get away that easy this time with our ability to exercise free will. We've already done that and look where it got us. Time's up, baby. It's not about you anymore. It's time to let go of who you think you are and master this lesson so you can move on to the next one. It's time to serve the rest of who you are-the rest of humanity that you once were and might someday be again. The universe holds more miracles and mysteries within itself than we can ever comprehend. Listen. Pay attention. Connect the dots. Stop resisting and start accepting.
The funny thing is we already know what we need to do, we've known it for a long time, decades even. We just have a hard time doing it. We have a hard time believing in something that doesn't make sense. Letting go and surrendering to something we don't understand yet, that's our battle, that's our fight. It's probably something we don't even like, something that certainly doesn't serve our ego or what we think is in our best interests. In order to do it, we have to shut that half of our brain up (as a wise MFA friend kept repeating to me in June) that doubts, tries to discredit, tries to justify, and tries to preserve the lifesaver that ends up drowning us anyway.
As tough, sad, scary, and completely ludicrous on paper as it is, we don't need a lifesaver. When we let go, we find out just how strong we already were and that we already knew how to navigate and save ourselves. And when we let go, we release what was keeping us from seeing possibility.
We go for it anyway. Despite the risks. Despite the consequences. Because it keeps pulling, it keeps pointing, it keeps whispering until it gives us no other choice.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
"Dazed and Confused"
Almost everyone knows that HSPs and Libras struggle with decisions. I've written about this before, but since June I've been internally debating quite a few. Not the type that determines whether you'll be eating Subway tonight instead of TGI Fridays or whether you should pick up a bottle of Chardonnay instead of that Menage A Trois red blend you love so much. No, these decisions are a little more complicated than that. And it starts with the truth-I am tired of writing.
I do not see the point in reading books just so you can pick them apart and wonder why something was written this way and not that way. I am tired of hearing opinion after opinion about how to make something better, what "works" and what "doesn't work." I am tired of being told what should be and what shouldn't be. I am tired of reading passionless excerpt after passionless excerpt from my MFA peers and having to make some kind of comment that makes it sound like I enjoyed reading their work. Yeah, I know this sounds stuck-up and snobbish, but I do not want to be molded into someone who only thinks and writes as if technique and structure were more important than feeling and creating. Since June I have picked up more fiction than I have since I was a teenager, but even reading some of it has bored me to tears. Most of the craft books I've had to read have been even worse.
I have cancelled one of my writing contracts because I didn't want to write lies about how the world of academia is of course, the ultimate truth of what actually goes on in the practical world. Besides, this client wanted me to put in the most effort for the least pay. That's not a smart or necessary use of my time. I'm really only still writing with two sites and it's taking me longer than ever to produce my work. Not because I'm slow, but because I get bored, distracted and just don't want to do it. In short, I'm burnt out.
My day job is okay. But now they want me to spend my days in my own office researching and testing software. I now get to contact vendors and write procedural guides. I was elected for this because they know I'm a "writer." I wish they didn't know. But when you mention in the interview that most of your current technical knowledge comes from writing technical articles and you have to request time off to attend your MFA residency in California.......well, there goes that little piece of anonymity.
I have long-term side effects from my concussion that I didn't expect. Not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, occasional random dizziness and nausea, irritability, not feeling rested after sleeping, taking 3-5 hour naps involuntarily, poor short-term memory, poor concentration, inability to clean my house in one spurt, random sharp pains that feel like an oncoming bad headache. At least I'm alive (for now). I'm aware that plenty of people don't even survive a head injury. This is my second. The first was when I was four years old. I guess I have some reason for survival, some purpose, some work to finish up before I depart this body. I just don't know what that is yet.
This isn't an inspirational post. In fact, it's quite depressing. I'm aware of that. Unfollow if you must, but as I've said before I don't blog for popularity. This is what I'm feeling right now. It's necessary that I have a job or a way to bring in enough income so I can pay my bills. That's why I don't quit my day job or terminate all of my writing contracts. It's not necessary that I get an MFA (which so far I don't think is for me, even though I'm aware some people would give their teeth to be in this program), write a novel, a collection of short stories or poetry, or publish them and then elevate the hell out of myself because now I'm a "real writer." To be honest, that's not even why I applied. I wasn't in this to get a book deal, submit a bunch of my work, or "become what I should be." I applied because I wanted to grow, I wanted to feel passion about something, I wanted to enjoy life. And most of all I wanted to escape.
But the truth is, none of that has happened. The truth is that I barely work on my creative work because it's the last thing on my priority list. Because it's not necessary. Because I have no passion. Because I am done traveling this road.
I do not see the point in reading books just so you can pick them apart and wonder why something was written this way and not that way. I am tired of hearing opinion after opinion about how to make something better, what "works" and what "doesn't work." I am tired of being told what should be and what shouldn't be. I am tired of reading passionless excerpt after passionless excerpt from my MFA peers and having to make some kind of comment that makes it sound like I enjoyed reading their work. Yeah, I know this sounds stuck-up and snobbish, but I do not want to be molded into someone who only thinks and writes as if technique and structure were more important than feeling and creating. Since June I have picked up more fiction than I have since I was a teenager, but even reading some of it has bored me to tears. Most of the craft books I've had to read have been even worse.
I have cancelled one of my writing contracts because I didn't want to write lies about how the world of academia is of course, the ultimate truth of what actually goes on in the practical world. Besides, this client wanted me to put in the most effort for the least pay. That's not a smart or necessary use of my time. I'm really only still writing with two sites and it's taking me longer than ever to produce my work. Not because I'm slow, but because I get bored, distracted and just don't want to do it. In short, I'm burnt out.
My day job is okay. But now they want me to spend my days in my own office researching and testing software. I now get to contact vendors and write procedural guides. I was elected for this because they know I'm a "writer." I wish they didn't know. But when you mention in the interview that most of your current technical knowledge comes from writing technical articles and you have to request time off to attend your MFA residency in California.......well, there goes that little piece of anonymity.
I have long-term side effects from my concussion that I didn't expect. Not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, occasional random dizziness and nausea, irritability, not feeling rested after sleeping, taking 3-5 hour naps involuntarily, poor short-term memory, poor concentration, inability to clean my house in one spurt, random sharp pains that feel like an oncoming bad headache. At least I'm alive (for now). I'm aware that plenty of people don't even survive a head injury. This is my second. The first was when I was four years old. I guess I have some reason for survival, some purpose, some work to finish up before I depart this body. I just don't know what that is yet.
This isn't an inspirational post. In fact, it's quite depressing. I'm aware of that. Unfollow if you must, but as I've said before I don't blog for popularity. This is what I'm feeling right now. It's necessary that I have a job or a way to bring in enough income so I can pay my bills. That's why I don't quit my day job or terminate all of my writing contracts. It's not necessary that I get an MFA (which so far I don't think is for me, even though I'm aware some people would give their teeth to be in this program), write a novel, a collection of short stories or poetry, or publish them and then elevate the hell out of myself because now I'm a "real writer." To be honest, that's not even why I applied. I wasn't in this to get a book deal, submit a bunch of my work, or "become what I should be." I applied because I wanted to grow, I wanted to feel passion about something, I wanted to enjoy life. And most of all I wanted to escape.
But the truth is, none of that has happened. The truth is that I barely work on my creative work because it's the last thing on my priority list. Because it's not necessary. Because I have no passion. Because I am done traveling this road.
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