9:41pm and this is my second take at this blog post. Damn you Blogger!
I'm sitting here at the computer, with the Olympics playing in the background. Don't know if I've mentioned it before, but Tag was an Olympic hopeful (Gold Medalist in AAU Nationals.) As such, he has several friends on the American Tae Kwon Do team, and he fervantly cheers on other American competitors. Through his passion, I have been able to view the Olympics as I never have before, through new eyes, filled with hope and pride. It has been a moving experience. However, as thrilling as it may prove to be, it does not keep me from near jumping out of my skin because tomorrow.... school begins.
The road here has seemed so endless. As a young girl, I wanted to be a dolphin & whale trainer. However, the fact that it seemed to require a lot of marine biology scared me away. So I turned to less cerebral, more instinctive pursuits... namely Theatre. And don't get me wrong, Theatre is still one of my greatest loves. There is no feeling like being on stage. But she has proven an unfaithful mistress, sometimes embracing me tightly to her bosom, other times kicking me in the teeth. And I was just not made for the "Business" of Show Business, particularly not here in Los Angeles, where no one is allowed to age or eat. Too many nights, I have sat by the proverbial phone, waiting for the promised call, only to go to bed late, teary-eyed and alone.
Whenever Theatre (or the rest of my uneven love life) left me broken and alone, animals have always been a source of joy and comfort. Nikki, my dear soulmate, has saved my life more times than I count. Beaker is a great spirit clown who has taught me to laugh at the simplest things. And when all else failed, I have often treated myself to a soul-inspiring trip to the Zoo.
Therefore,it is no surprise that when in 2004 my best friend said "Make a list of the things that make you truly happy, and then create a job from that," "working with animals" topped the list (followed closely by "working outside.") However, simply making those discoveries does not place all the yellow bricks in the road. My research took me high and low, searching for the best training programs for zoo keeping, or in-field observation and rehabilitation. Eventually, through one recommendation and the next, I came across the EATM program. Now all I had to do was apply, play my odds with the lottery admissions, find the finances to pay for 2 years of life with school but no job, AND complete the intensive 22 month program. I applied in late 2004 for the 2005 admissions, only to find myself 15th on the waiting list, short on cash and mired in a lousy job.
Flash ahead 3 years. Years filled with further research, paying off debts, & finding a boyfriend who not only encouraged my passion but promised to help me with living expenses. Lady Luck granted me grace with the admissions process, and friends have been nothing but enthusiastically encouraging, reassuring me that they are proud of me, they are excited for me, and they respect the fact that I am following a too long surpressed dream. From the little girl who dreamed of training whales, to the 36 year old woman, nervously giving voice to her "back to school" jitters... I can hardly believe my journey, my luck, my future.
Keep your fingers crossed for me, and keep your internets tuned to this bat channel. I'll do my best to blog all the ups and downs, so that you too can take this facinating roller coaster ride with me. They tell me dreams come true. They tell me to believe. I've been waiting a long time for those promises to be made manifest. Tomorrow, I walk trhough a door untried.... and find out what wonders are on the other side.
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Trying to Reason with the Hurricane Season*
I couldn't sleep this morning, because my brain was buzzing with things to say and urges to express. Yet, when I got up and put myself at the computer, a dam went up in my brain and I began only to check email and read blogs.
I'm avoiding myself again.
I'm in a time of transition. I have been for several years now. Usually, when I think of transition, I think of relatively short bursts of energy, pushing me forward, like a snake shedding its skin. However, this transition has been slower and more laborious. Like pregnancy, it creeps forward, seeming sometimes endless. And like pregnancy, one major transition is then followed by another, for after giving birth, it isn't' like Mom gets to go right back to her childless life... no, now a new phase of change and adaptation begins as she surrenders her life to the whims and needs of her spawn.
By the way, I am (for the record) NOT PREGNANT. I'm just using that as an example.
What I am is... confused. Heading down a path I've not yet labeled or recognized completely. I feel a little lost in this body, in this life. I still don't make money in anything related to animal work. I still don't have an answer on school (well, I sort of do. I'm on the wait/alternate list. I'm number 5 on this list, and that's good... but it's not a definite yes or no yet, and the limbo is making me nutz!)
NO... it is more than just school or work. It is my body. It is aging. Goddess Spirituality talks about the triad of Goddess: Maiden, Mother, Crone. For so long, I was an embodiment of Maiden energy. Sometimes Dark Maiden, with over-indulgences and self-destructive behaviors, but always there was a youthfulness to my step. Although my body was that of a mature woman, my spirit felt young, and beautiful.
Growing up, I was not the standard beauty. It long plagued me that I was awkward and brunette and more curvy than statuesque. So I worked like a bastard to make up for it, with a ton of personality and an overt sensuality/sexuality. As I grew up, and did more inner work, I began to actually look in the mirror and say, "That girl there, she's .... well she's attractive, and that's not bad." I felt that I was beginning to accept myself. More so, I was very nearly able to love myself, how I looked.
But then things began to change. Was it all the emotional butchering of 2005? Was it the physical traumas caused by the IUD in 2006? Was it all the health problems and chronic pain I've had lately? Was it settling into a real long term relationship, sharing my space, my every mood and bodily function with another human being? Dealing with intimacy in a way I'd never known before and finding that I wasn't as good at it as I'd hoped? Or was it the Chinese water torture of year after year of office politics and useless corporate posturing that just sucked the joy out of me? I don't know what the tipping point was, but the last 2 - 3 years have aged me. I look into the mirror and the Maiden is gone. My eyes just don't sparkle. I notice more wrinkles. I can pinch way more than an inch, pretty much everywhere.
Somewhere inside, there is a very startled little girl looking out my eyes and saying to my reflection, "What happened to you? You Got OLD!" And in this town, Old = Unattractive. Old = Invisible. Old = Done. And I don't want to be done... I'm 36 years old. I refuse to be done.
The 1/4 sleeve tattoo on my right arm is a reminder to me that I am not finished with my journey. Clearly, the head shaving is also an attempt to redefine, reconfigure.... reimagine what "grown up" looks like. Like adolescence, I find myself trying to compensate for not being "pretty". Like a youthful rebellion, I am acting out, refusing to conform (because deep down inside, I know that if I tried to conform, I still wouldn't fit. I still wouldn't be "good enough" for the standard.)
To go back to my earlier analogy, I believe that I have completed the birthing portion of this transformation. But I'm still struggling with the surrender concept: the idea that I must willing let go of the rope to which I cling, that previous image of self, and give myself completely to a fresh, reimagined fledgling spawn of the woman I am to become.
Dude... it has to be said. Sometimes this growing-up shit sucks eggs!
* I know this post has nothing to do with hurricanes. The Jimmy Buffett quote is just my way of saying that sometimes we try to make sense of things that are beyond our control. We wish to understand cosmic nature and all her destructive forces, and sometimes, that just doesn't do a damn bit of good. What is, just IS. Grab your beer, hold on to your trailer, and try to enjoy the ride.
I'm avoiding myself again.
I'm in a time of transition. I have been for several years now. Usually, when I think of transition, I think of relatively short bursts of energy, pushing me forward, like a snake shedding its skin. However, this transition has been slower and more laborious. Like pregnancy, it creeps forward, seeming sometimes endless. And like pregnancy, one major transition is then followed by another, for after giving birth, it isn't' like Mom gets to go right back to her childless life... no, now a new phase of change and adaptation begins as she surrenders her life to the whims and needs of her spawn.
By the way, I am (for the record) NOT PREGNANT. I'm just using that as an example.
What I am is... confused. Heading down a path I've not yet labeled or recognized completely. I feel a little lost in this body, in this life. I still don't make money in anything related to animal work. I still don't have an answer on school (well, I sort of do. I'm on the wait/alternate list. I'm number 5 on this list, and that's good... but it's not a definite yes or no yet, and the limbo is making me nutz!)
NO... it is more than just school or work. It is my body. It is aging. Goddess Spirituality talks about the triad of Goddess: Maiden, Mother, Crone. For so long, I was an embodiment of Maiden energy. Sometimes Dark Maiden, with over-indulgences and self-destructive behaviors, but always there was a youthfulness to my step. Although my body was that of a mature woman, my spirit felt young, and beautiful.
Growing up, I was not the standard beauty. It long plagued me that I was awkward and brunette and more curvy than statuesque. So I worked like a bastard to make up for it, with a ton of personality and an overt sensuality/sexuality. As I grew up, and did more inner work, I began to actually look in the mirror and say, "That girl there, she's .... well she's attractive, and that's not bad." I felt that I was beginning to accept myself. More so, I was very nearly able to love myself, how I looked.
But then things began to change. Was it all the emotional butchering of 2005? Was it the physical traumas caused by the IUD in 2006? Was it all the health problems and chronic pain I've had lately? Was it settling into a real long term relationship, sharing my space, my every mood and bodily function with another human being? Dealing with intimacy in a way I'd never known before and finding that I wasn't as good at it as I'd hoped? Or was it the Chinese water torture of year after year of office politics and useless corporate posturing that just sucked the joy out of me? I don't know what the tipping point was, but the last 2 - 3 years have aged me. I look into the mirror and the Maiden is gone. My eyes just don't sparkle. I notice more wrinkles. I can pinch way more than an inch, pretty much everywhere.
Somewhere inside, there is a very startled little girl looking out my eyes and saying to my reflection, "What happened to you? You Got OLD!" And in this town, Old = Unattractive. Old = Invisible. Old = Done. And I don't want to be done... I'm 36 years old. I refuse to be done.
The 1/4 sleeve tattoo on my right arm is a reminder to me that I am not finished with my journey. Clearly, the head shaving is also an attempt to redefine, reconfigure.... reimagine what "grown up" looks like. Like adolescence, I find myself trying to compensate for not being "pretty". Like a youthful rebellion, I am acting out, refusing to conform (because deep down inside, I know that if I tried to conform, I still wouldn't fit. I still wouldn't be "good enough" for the standard.)
To go back to my earlier analogy, I believe that I have completed the birthing portion of this transformation. But I'm still struggling with the surrender concept: the idea that I must willing let go of the rope to which I cling, that previous image of self, and give myself completely to a fresh, reimagined fledgling spawn of the woman I am to become.
Dude... it has to be said. Sometimes this growing-up shit sucks eggs!
* I know this post has nothing to do with hurricanes. The Jimmy Buffett quote is just my way of saying that sometimes we try to make sense of things that are beyond our control. We wish to understand cosmic nature and all her destructive forces, and sometimes, that just doesn't do a damn bit of good. What is, just IS. Grab your beer, hold on to your trailer, and try to enjoy the ride.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Sprung!!
Not all the thinking has been dreary and dark. I've had some epiphanies lately that have allowed me to begin viewing my life with a new set of specs.
I'm just finishing up Week 3 in Walking in this World. Now, I admit that I'm finding much of the book challenging. Transitioning from actress to animal behavioralist/trainer/keeper feels like walking away from creativity. However, the exercises remind me that life, lived to its purpose, is always creative. There is creation when a mathematician writes a proof, or a scientist searches for truth in a microscope. There is art in each human action, if only you let it exist. Therefore, I put my faith in the idea that my life still contains something anarchistic, untamed and alive, and I put together a collage art piece for speaking subconsciously with myself.
Holding a question/issue loosely in my mind, I spent nearly 2 hours pulling images that spoke to me. Some were as expected, animals or ocean. But others were surprising. Many were ripe berries and blooming flowers. Succulent fruits. Opulent pillows. Bold colors leapt forth in Blues, Reds and Purples.
Assembling the images into a message was the next part of the assignment, and oddly enough, I found they practically placed themselves. Even though I'd clipped out many words, only a few made it on the page. Most were simple. "Joy" & "Go. Do. Be." are the primary messages. However, the most unique picture and the most unusual words put themselves right at the heart of the piece. The visual is a stunning crystal formation, white & silver, pointing out in all directions, like a crystalline explosion.... or the tree topper in Superman's Fortress of Solitude holiday decorations. Under that, the words "God wants to see us happy."
Step 3: Write about what you have found. I sat there, pen in hand, overwhelmed by the message of my art (or my heart, as my fingers just Freudially typed). The piece is overwhelmingly about being ripe & ready for bloom. It speaks of joy, and expression. Unapologetic life, bursting forth with a center of divine guidance, inspiration and permission.
That's all well and good to look at and see... but to really GET that message was ... literally stunning. I sat motionless as tears rolled down my face. For you see, I never envisioned my life happy. Some girls put together dream proms or fantasy weddings. Others picture themselves ensconced in happy home lives, or pursing dream jobs. Me... I planned my suicide. Very elaborately, at the height of my fantasy career. Even in those frequently played movies in my head, I was not happy. Even then, I pictured myself emotionally alone in a sea of “friends.” I did not have love, although I had multiple affairs. I was tragic and under appreciated, like the “idols” I looked to at the time; Marilyn Monroe, Vincent Van Gogh, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin. Ask the people who knew me at 15 and they will tell you that I was a firm believer in “Live Fast. Die Young. Leave a good looking corpse.”
The more I thought back to my past, the more I realized that I never, NEVER thought I’d be happy. I never understood, or even imagined it was possible. I thought it was a good and positive goal to die before the world was ready for you to do so, like the old theatre adage “Leave them wanting more.” I thought "tragic martyr" was a fulfilling lifestyle choice.
No wonder my current situation seems so foreign to me. I wake up, and there’s not some feeling of overwhelming dread hanging over me. I’m not counting the hours until I’m dead. I get up in the morning and I have… hope. Previously, I would have thought this to be selfish, or childish, or both. I would have found the notion ridiculous, and would have scoffed shamefully at myself for even thinking it. But there it was… right in the damn middle of my piece. A clear affirmation that it is right and good to pursue what you love. The simple and loving statement that “God* wants to see us happy.”
I still don’t know exactly where I’m headed or what my life is going to look like in the future. But apparently, inside, I know that I am on the right path, getting riper each moment, preparing to blossom into happiness.
And as if to confirm it all for me, The Laughing Maiden opened her loving arms and with her soft breath, gave color back to the garden. Spring has sprung. No
where was that more evident than at Pike's Public Market in downtown Seattle. I strolled through with a smile on my face and a blooming bit of hope in my heart. It is hard to be down when surrounded by hundreds of daffodils and tulips. 
I'm just finishing up Week 3 in Walking in this World. Now, I admit that I'm finding much of the book challenging. Transitioning from actress to animal behavioralist/trainer/keeper feels like walking away from creativity. However, the exercises remind me that life, lived to its purpose, is always creative. There is creation when a mathematician writes a proof, or a scientist searches for truth in a microscope. There is art in each human action, if only you let it exist. Therefore, I put my faith in the idea that my life still contains something anarchistic, untamed and alive, and I put together a collage art piece for speaking subconsciously with myself.
Holding a question/issue loosely in my mind, I spent nearly 2 hours pulling images that spoke to me. Some were as expected, animals or ocean. But others were surprising. Many were ripe berries and blooming flowers. Succulent fruits. Opulent pillows. Bold colors leapt forth in Blues, Reds and Purples.
Assembling the images into a message was the next part of the assignment, and oddly enough, I found they practically placed themselves. Even though I'd clipped out many words, only a few made it on the page. Most were simple. "Joy" & "Go. Do. Be." are the primary messages. However, the most unique picture and the most unusual words put themselves right at the heart of the piece. The visual is a stunning crystal formation, white & silver, pointing out in all directions, like a crystalline explosion.... or the tree topper in Superman's Fortress of Solitude holiday decorations. Under that, the words "God wants to see us happy."
Step 3: Write about what you have found. I sat there, pen in hand, overwhelmed by the message of my art (or my heart, as my fingers just Freudially typed). The piece is overwhelmingly about being ripe & ready for bloom. It speaks of joy, and expression. Unapologetic life, bursting forth with a center of divine guidance, inspiration and permission.
That's all well and good to look at and see... but to really GET that message was ... literally stunning. I sat motionless as tears rolled down my face. For you see, I never envisioned my life happy. Some girls put together dream proms or fantasy weddings. Others picture themselves ensconced in happy home lives, or pursing dream jobs. Me... I planned my suicide. Very elaborately, at the height of my fantasy career. Even in those frequently played movies in my head, I was not happy. Even then, I pictured myself emotionally alone in a sea of “friends.” I did not have love, although I had multiple affairs. I was tragic and under appreciated, like the “idols” I looked to at the time; Marilyn Monroe, Vincent Van Gogh, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin. Ask the people who knew me at 15 and they will tell you that I was a firm believer in “Live Fast. Die Young. Leave a good looking corpse.”
The more I thought back to my past, the more I realized that I never, NEVER thought I’d be happy. I never understood, or even imagined it was possible. I thought it was a good and positive goal to die before the world was ready for you to do so, like the old theatre adage “Leave them wanting more.” I thought "tragic martyr" was a fulfilling lifestyle choice.
No wonder my current situation seems so foreign to me. I wake up, and there’s not some feeling of overwhelming dread hanging over me. I’m not counting the hours until I’m dead. I get up in the morning and I have… hope. Previously, I would have thought this to be selfish, or childish, or both. I would have found the notion ridiculous, and would have scoffed shamefully at myself for even thinking it. But there it was… right in the damn middle of my piece. A clear affirmation that it is right and good to pursue what you love. The simple and loving statement that “God* wants to see us happy.”
I still don’t know exactly where I’m headed or what my life is going to look like in the future. But apparently, inside, I know that I am on the right path, getting riper each moment, preparing to blossom into happiness.
And as if to confirm it all for me, The Laughing Maiden opened her loving arms and with her soft breath, gave color back to the garden. Spring has sprung. No
where was that more evident than at Pike's Public Market in downtown Seattle. I strolled through with a smile on my face and a blooming bit of hope in my heart. It is hard to be down when surrounded by hundreds of daffodils and tulips. 
For more photos from our Pacific Northwest Adventures, be sure to check my flickr.
* GOD, for the purpose of this post and its various readers, may pleasantly stand for "Give Own Definition". I personally believe in a benevolent higher power, although I more frequently will call it Goddess or Universe. Whatever your specific definition, the point remains the same.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Revelations at 15,000 feet
Tag had a business trip this week (it is his busy season). However, time and location being in line with the stars, I was able to go along for a small vacation. Our jaunt took us up to Seattle, a city I had longed to visit. Raised in Florida, but living in a desert, I find myself chronically desiring a good rain. Seattle seems a likely candidate for providing such pleasures.
However, I find that the trip allotted me so much more than just precipitation. The flights themselves were fairly uneventful, often hovering over or barrelling through fluffy worlds of grey and white. Below me the land stretched out, a luscious green, rising and falling in large crinkly waves; emerald velvet discarded by some frivolous seamstress. Deep pools of black decorated the fabric of the landscape. Tract housing, with its circular patterns and identical roofs, reminded me of ringworm signs in flesh, and the irony of that was not lost on me. Urban sprawl is a parasite, leaching its way through virgin wildlife. Forehead pressed to the tiny window, I was simultaneously awed, inspired, saddened and disgusted. The more I study and work with conservation and rescue, the more I rage at the majority of American culture, with its need for instant gratification and its "Me First" attitude. And yet there I was, riding on a plane, for a recreational trip to another city, for no other reason than "Oooh, that would be cool."
Tag says that I worry too much. He's not the first to say something along those lines to me. But I can't stop my mind from spinning into a frenzy. I can't stop it long enough to sit still these days. My actual mental health scares me sometimes, as I feel that my long time depression is slowly transforming into something more bi-polar. I don't want to be sick, but the signs seem so inevitably obvious. Yet I don't want it to be true. I don't want to be on medication, not now... and certainly not forever.
I've read on various blogs the argument that if I had diabetes, I wouldn't hesitate to take insulin. Or if I had cancer, I wouldn't hesitate to treat it with radiation or chemo. But the simple fact is that I wouldn't want to. I would resist traditional therapies and would like to pursue other methods of healing. I don't care what the disease, I don't want to be on medication for the rest of my life. However, I fear that I am inherently lazy, and would not do all that needs to be done to treat the illness holistically. It is overwhelming to look down the barrel of that gun and feel so disempowered.
So runs the gamut of emotions that I experienced over the last three days. Awe at beauty, but fury at its demise. Impassioned about living, but despondent over where life is headed. Lucky, but unlucky. I am urged to take life by its proverbial horns and change the world, but discouraged by the feeling of being perpetually behind the 8-ball. Like the tiny ice crystals that form on plane windows, there are moments of small, unparalleled beauty, but they melt before your feet touch down.
Thinking never stops in my brain. I wake from dreams still pondering the questions that were asked of me during their neuron-dancing frenzy. And yet still, I wake without answers. Hanging in mid-air, the ground below is magical and enticing to the touch. I just need to find a way to bring that essence down, pluck it out of the wind like a butterfly or stray balloon, and let the floating freedom transform me. Because if I don't figure out how to manifest that transformation soon, I fear that I will remain this neurotic pill-popping people hater. And that is just one step closer to becoming part of the problem.
There is so much that needs transformation and healing. But tonight, I am overwhelmed and jet lagged, lost in thought that handicaps my desire for action. It is not the most comfortable seat on the plane.
However, I find that the trip allotted me so much more than just precipitation. The flights themselves were fairly uneventful, often hovering over or barrelling through fluffy worlds of grey and white. Below me the land stretched out, a luscious green, rising and falling in large crinkly waves; emerald velvet discarded by some frivolous seamstress. Deep pools of black decorated the fabric of the landscape. Tract housing, with its circular patterns and identical roofs, reminded me of ringworm signs in flesh, and the irony of that was not lost on me. Urban sprawl is a parasite, leaching its way through virgin wildlife. Forehead pressed to the tiny window, I was simultaneously awed, inspired, saddened and disgusted. The more I study and work with conservation and rescue, the more I rage at the majority of American culture, with its need for instant gratification and its "Me First" attitude. And yet there I was, riding on a plane, for a recreational trip to another city, for no other reason than "Oooh, that would be cool."
Tag says that I worry too much. He's not the first to say something along those lines to me. But I can't stop my mind from spinning into a frenzy. I can't stop it long enough to sit still these days. My actual mental health scares me sometimes, as I feel that my long time depression is slowly transforming into something more bi-polar. I don't want to be sick, but the signs seem so inevitably obvious. Yet I don't want it to be true. I don't want to be on medication, not now... and certainly not forever.
I've read on various blogs the argument that if I had diabetes, I wouldn't hesitate to take insulin. Or if I had cancer, I wouldn't hesitate to treat it with radiation or chemo. But the simple fact is that I wouldn't want to. I would resist traditional therapies and would like to pursue other methods of healing. I don't care what the disease, I don't want to be on medication for the rest of my life. However, I fear that I am inherently lazy, and would not do all that needs to be done to treat the illness holistically. It is overwhelming to look down the barrel of that gun and feel so disempowered.
So runs the gamut of emotions that I experienced over the last three days. Awe at beauty, but fury at its demise. Impassioned about living, but despondent over where life is headed. Lucky, but unlucky. I am urged to take life by its proverbial horns and change the world, but discouraged by the feeling of being perpetually behind the 8-ball. Like the tiny ice crystals that form on plane windows, there are moments of small, unparalleled beauty, but they melt before your feet touch down.
Thinking never stops in my brain. I wake from dreams still pondering the questions that were asked of me during their neuron-dancing frenzy. And yet still, I wake without answers. Hanging in mid-air, the ground below is magical and enticing to the touch. I just need to find a way to bring that essence down, pluck it out of the wind like a butterfly or stray balloon, and let the floating freedom transform me. Because if I don't figure out how to manifest that transformation soon, I fear that I will remain this neurotic pill-popping people hater. And that is just one step closer to becoming part of the problem.
There is so much that needs transformation and healing. But tonight, I am overwhelmed and jet lagged, lost in thought that handicaps my desire for action. It is not the most comfortable seat on the plane.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Choices
One's philosophy is not best expressed in words; it is expressed in the choices one makes. In the long run, we shape our lives and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And, the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.-- Eleanor Roosevelt
The prospect of being unemployed is not one that fills me with a great deal of comfort. However, the actions of others around me (here at the office) have confirmed that my resignation was ABSOLUTELY the best choice for me to make. Alice in Wonderland once said, "I do not want to go amongst mad people," and believe me, I could not echo her sentiments more resolutely.
As the news of my departure leaks its way through the department, and then the company, many have approached to ask where my path is heading. I can give no answer other than, "I don't know... but sure as hell not here." An overwhelming abundance of choices are spread before me and I could pick any and do well.
However, some choices are not made with the mind, but with the heart, or the soul, or the very essence that drives you. I tell others that I don't know where I'm headed, but that's not entirely true. I know that my future must contain working with animals, and preferably working outside. Too long have I sat 10 - 12 hours at a time, in front of a computer, ignoring the fact that the sun rises and sets and I don't have a moment to get outdoors. Too long have I smiled and played "nice" within the snake pit of office politics. And for what? As Amandarin pointed out not long ago, "No one is ever going to reach their deathbed and find themselves wishing they'd spent more time at work." I'm pursing returning to school. I'm looking at nearby possibilities. And of course, I'm still reaching for my heart's mission.
One night, I was scouring the web, researching opportunities and I found myself weeping for all the lost years. I turned to Tag and said, "How did I get to be 36 without even KNOWING these jobs were out there?" To which he responded, "The good news is... you're only 36, and you know now."
Eleanor is right. This process takes an entire lifetime, and I'm not done yet. If I am truly in charge of shaping my life, then let me grab the sculptor's tools and create a reality I'm proud to call my own. Let me choose to be happy and fulfilled. Let me make the choices that make a difference.
The prospect of being unemployed is not one that fills me with a great deal of comfort. However, the actions of others around me (here at the office) have confirmed that my resignation was ABSOLUTELY the best choice for me to make. Alice in Wonderland once said, "I do not want to go amongst mad people," and believe me, I could not echo her sentiments more resolutely.
As the news of my departure leaks its way through the department, and then the company, many have approached to ask where my path is heading. I can give no answer other than, "I don't know... but sure as hell not here." An overwhelming abundance of choices are spread before me and I could pick any and do well.
However, some choices are not made with the mind, but with the heart, or the soul, or the very essence that drives you. I tell others that I don't know where I'm headed, but that's not entirely true. I know that my future must contain working with animals, and preferably working outside. Too long have I sat 10 - 12 hours at a time, in front of a computer, ignoring the fact that the sun rises and sets and I don't have a moment to get outdoors. Too long have I smiled and played "nice" within the snake pit of office politics. And for what? As Amandarin pointed out not long ago, "No one is ever going to reach their deathbed and find themselves wishing they'd spent more time at work." I'm pursing returning to school. I'm looking at nearby possibilities. And of course, I'm still reaching for my heart's mission.
One night, I was scouring the web, researching opportunities and I found myself weeping for all the lost years. I turned to Tag and said, "How did I get to be 36 without even KNOWING these jobs were out there?" To which he responded, "The good news is... you're only 36, and you know now."
Eleanor is right. This process takes an entire lifetime, and I'm not done yet. If I am truly in charge of shaping my life, then let me grab the sculptor's tools and create a reality I'm proud to call my own. Let me choose to be happy and fulfilled. Let me make the choices that make a difference.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Joining the Ranks
Life does so like to throw curve balls at the best laid plans. For example, blogging. If you take too long in the crafting of your statement, you may rapidly find that what you wished to say is no longer relevant.
Case in point, I was working on a blog post called “The Death in Deadlines.” Long have I bemoaned the corporate world, chained to a desk and other’s rules. I have been doing two different jobs, acting as both Exec Assistant and Special Events Coordinator. The first is my job on paper (which grows daily). The second, I’ve stepped up to because it is desperately needed (and far more entertaining than the first.) The pace has become unmanageable and the office drama has grown more emotionally draining by the month. Add to that the fact that I left my heart in Kanab, Utah, and what was once uncomfortable becomes unbearable. Thus over a month ago,“Operation Departure” was set in motion.
I notified my friends in IT that I would need to move my iTunes library off my work computer. This did require my buying a laptop of my very own, on which to relocate my tunage. Tag began budgeting, to find out how we might be able to live on a single income (in the interim, not as a full time solution.) I set up time with the President of the company, to establish why they needed a full time Events Coordinator, and also to name the candidate I thought best to fill that position. Lastly, I declared to those closest to me that I would not see February 1st in my current situation.
I am prone to staying in very bad situations for way too long. My inner codependent screams, “I can fix this,” and I repeatedly attempt to make silk from the sow’s ear. Therefore, by declaration, I enlisted my friends to be my reality check and my reinforced backbone. If, for some reason I did not give notice, they were all permitted to question my sanity and … harass me until I stood up for myself and left.
This week, each day, they would IM me encouraging words and a great deal of support. And each day this week, I considered backing out of my plan. Not because the work situation was getting any better, but because my masochistic self felt irrepressibly guilty for leaving a job for no better reason than my mental health.
“Death in Deadlines” was to speak to the fact that my friends were (rightly so) calling for me to honor my commitment, and to admit my fear and hesitation to honor myself. However, today (the day before I was to give notice) events came to pass that required my announcement to come one day early. It was time to just take a deep breath and speak up for myself. I did so, and while I kept it diplomatic, a small spark inside me ignited and I felt … I don’t know how to describe it. Hopeful, perhaps. Free, maybe.
Whatever the feeling, the point is… with a great deal of planning, but no clear idea of where I’m headed, I let go of what was, and jumped both feet into the ranks of the unemployed.
Case in point, I was working on a blog post called “The Death in Deadlines.” Long have I bemoaned the corporate world, chained to a desk and other’s rules. I have been doing two different jobs, acting as both Exec Assistant and Special Events Coordinator. The first is my job on paper (which grows daily). The second, I’ve stepped up to because it is desperately needed (and far more entertaining than the first.) The pace has become unmanageable and the office drama has grown more emotionally draining by the month. Add to that the fact that I left my heart in Kanab, Utah, and what was once uncomfortable becomes unbearable. Thus over a month ago,“Operation Departure” was set in motion.
I notified my friends in IT that I would need to move my iTunes library off my work computer. This did require my buying a laptop of my very own, on which to relocate my tunage. Tag began budgeting, to find out how we might be able to live on a single income (in the interim, not as a full time solution.) I set up time with the President of the company, to establish why they needed a full time Events Coordinator, and also to name the candidate I thought best to fill that position. Lastly, I declared to those closest to me that I would not see February 1st in my current situation.
I am prone to staying in very bad situations for way too long. My inner codependent screams, “I can fix this,” and I repeatedly attempt to make silk from the sow’s ear. Therefore, by declaration, I enlisted my friends to be my reality check and my reinforced backbone. If, for some reason I did not give notice, they were all permitted to question my sanity and … harass me until I stood up for myself and left.
This week, each day, they would IM me encouraging words and a great deal of support. And each day this week, I considered backing out of my plan. Not because the work situation was getting any better, but because my masochistic self felt irrepressibly guilty for leaving a job for no better reason than my mental health.
“Death in Deadlines” was to speak to the fact that my friends were (rightly so) calling for me to honor my commitment, and to admit my fear and hesitation to honor myself. However, today (the day before I was to give notice) events came to pass that required my announcement to come one day early. It was time to just take a deep breath and speak up for myself. I did so, and while I kept it diplomatic, a small spark inside me ignited and I felt … I don’t know how to describe it. Hopeful, perhaps. Free, maybe.
Whatever the feeling, the point is… with a great deal of planning, but no clear idea of where I’m headed, I let go of what was, and jumped both feet into the ranks of the unemployed.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
The Dark Times
November 1st. All Saints’ Day. Dios de los Muertos. A beautiful celebration of the life that we find, even in death. A time to remember those who have passed. To celebrate and honor those who came before.
Recognized as the Pagan New Year, Hallows (or Samhain) is the entrance into the Dark Time. “Caldron Time," I've heard some call it. When days grow shorter and nights grow longer, we are supposed to use that quiet night to drop deeper into ourselves, slow things down, and reflect. We are the seed under the snow, waiting for the return of the light to give us strength and energy to grow.
However, for me, it can also be a dark time in other ways. My cyclical depression raises its ugly head, and makes daily life challenging. I was diagnosed way back in the day (when I was 15), before it was a commonplace diagnosis. Chucked into therapy and eventually put on Prozac (which only made things MUCH worse), depression became the albatross around my neck.
For many years, I have fought it and worked with it. I have used yoga, meditation, herbs, spirituality and just plain stubbornness to win my life back from the condition. Most of the time, I do ok. But every few years, the situation goes beyond my ability to deal with, and I have to seek medical help. I don’t like the chemicals and the side effects, but the other option is just as unpleasant. The moods are starting to negatively affect the quality of my life. It’s getting past the point where I can function normally.
This most recent bout of numbness has also been fraught with anxiety. Panic attacks wake me in the middle of the night. Unreasonable fears assault me when I’m out in the open. The other night, I was celebrating the holiday with friends, when suddenly I thought I was going to throw up, right there in the park. My head was spinning. My heart was pounding. All I wanted to do was rage and scream and run home and hide. I continued to breathe, and slowly it passed… but the time it took to do so was oddly distorted, like watching a movie slightly out of focus, in which I am starring, but have no control over the action. It was terrifying.
Needless to say, living with someone like this is a laugh a minute riot, and poor Tag is struggling. This is a man who picks up on my PMS and gets moody with me. Therefore, you can only imagine how his sensitivity is reacting to the screaming banshee that is currently inhabiting his girlfriend. My decision to go back on meds is as much for him as it is for me. I’d like to better the quality of both our lives, bring a little peace and happiness back to our home.
It is scary to be lost like this, to feel the growing fear gnawing on me each day. It is how I would imagine it feels to be eaten slowly by a giant invisible monster. I shall take with me many tools into the belly of that beast, and hope it doesn’t all turn to crap on the other side.
And so the wheel turns.
Recognized as the Pagan New Year, Hallows (or Samhain) is the entrance into the Dark Time. “Caldron Time," I've heard some call it. When days grow shorter and nights grow longer, we are supposed to use that quiet night to drop deeper into ourselves, slow things down, and reflect. We are the seed under the snow, waiting for the return of the light to give us strength and energy to grow.
However, for me, it can also be a dark time in other ways. My cyclical depression raises its ugly head, and makes daily life challenging. I was diagnosed way back in the day (when I was 15), before it was a commonplace diagnosis. Chucked into therapy and eventually put on Prozac (which only made things MUCH worse), depression became the albatross around my neck.
For many years, I have fought it and worked with it. I have used yoga, meditation, herbs, spirituality and just plain stubbornness to win my life back from the condition. Most of the time, I do ok. But every few years, the situation goes beyond my ability to deal with, and I have to seek medical help. I don’t like the chemicals and the side effects, but the other option is just as unpleasant. The moods are starting to negatively affect the quality of my life. It’s getting past the point where I can function normally.
This most recent bout of numbness has also been fraught with anxiety. Panic attacks wake me in the middle of the night. Unreasonable fears assault me when I’m out in the open. The other night, I was celebrating the holiday with friends, when suddenly I thought I was going to throw up, right there in the park. My head was spinning. My heart was pounding. All I wanted to do was rage and scream and run home and hide. I continued to breathe, and slowly it passed… but the time it took to do so was oddly distorted, like watching a movie slightly out of focus, in which I am starring, but have no control over the action. It was terrifying.
Needless to say, living with someone like this is a laugh a minute riot, and poor Tag is struggling. This is a man who picks up on my PMS and gets moody with me. Therefore, you can only imagine how his sensitivity is reacting to the screaming banshee that is currently inhabiting his girlfriend. My decision to go back on meds is as much for him as it is for me. I’d like to better the quality of both our lives, bring a little peace and happiness back to our home.
It is scary to be lost like this, to feel the growing fear gnawing on me each day. It is how I would imagine it feels to be eaten slowly by a giant invisible monster. I shall take with me many tools into the belly of that beast, and hope it doesn’t all turn to crap on the other side.
And so the wheel turns.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Ebb & Flow
Change comes rapidly, like a swift Autumn wind. Faster than the seasons can shift, faster than I can keep up. As John Lennon sang: “Life is what happens to you when while you're busy making other plans.”
*pause, to catch my breath*
Although co-habitation can be challenging, Tag and I grow ever closer. However, sometimes it is for unfortunate reasons. Just last weekend, we shared the heartbreak of losing a pet. Brave Neo, who traveled with Tag from Chicago, died inexplicably, leaving the bulk of our Saturday mired in impromptu services in the nearby park. This, added to the sadness of my Grandmother’s passing, has left me pondering the “dark time” and all its hidden gifts.
Traditionally, Samhain is the festival that marks the “End of Summer”, or the time of the Harvest. One tradition states that you could harvest until sundown on Hallows Eve, but not a moment longer. Whatever was not cut by that sunset, you left in the field as an offering to the spirits. From that moment, you could only look forward to the next harvest season; making productive use of what had been brought in, and sowing the seeds for the following year.
During this last season or so, friends have fallen away, life has run at speeds both hectic and humdrum, and of course, love has come to play.
For each birth there has been a death. For each Spring blossom that bloomed, an Autumn leaf fell to ground. Sadness and loss weigh heavy right now, as the days grow shorter and darker. I’ve been battling moments of anger and despair. Last night, in dance class, I found myself weeping, in a dimly lit room pulsating with music and life. I felt like I was a great black hole of energy, absorbing joy and transmuting it into nothingness.
My mood is lighter today, although not completely recovered. My thoughts are scattered and this post is challenging to write. However, underneath it all, I still feel a smidgeon of hope bubbling up through the goop-- the ever-present idea that it does once again get better, that wounds heal, and lessons get learned and at the end of the day, as long as one can surround themselves with friends and loved ones…. it’s gonna be ok.
*pause, to catch my breath*
Although co-habitation can be challenging, Tag and I grow ever closer. However, sometimes it is for unfortunate reasons. Just last weekend, we shared the heartbreak of losing a pet. Brave Neo, who traveled with Tag from Chicago, died inexplicably, leaving the bulk of our Saturday mired in impromptu services in the nearby park. This, added to the sadness of my Grandmother’s passing, has left me pondering the “dark time” and all its hidden gifts.
Traditionally, Samhain is the festival that marks the “End of Summer”, or the time of the Harvest. One tradition states that you could harvest until sundown on Hallows Eve, but not a moment longer. Whatever was not cut by that sunset, you left in the field as an offering to the spirits. From that moment, you could only look forward to the next harvest season; making productive use of what had been brought in, and sowing the seeds for the following year.
During this last season or so, friends have fallen away, life has run at speeds both hectic and humdrum, and of course, love has come to play.
For each birth there has been a death. For each Spring blossom that bloomed, an Autumn leaf fell to ground. Sadness and loss weigh heavy right now, as the days grow shorter and darker. I’ve been battling moments of anger and despair. Last night, in dance class, I found myself weeping, in a dimly lit room pulsating with music and life. I felt like I was a great black hole of energy, absorbing joy and transmuting it into nothingness.
My mood is lighter today, although not completely recovered. My thoughts are scattered and this post is challenging to write. However, underneath it all, I still feel a smidgeon of hope bubbling up through the goop-- the ever-present idea that it does once again get better, that wounds heal, and lessons get learned and at the end of the day, as long as one can surround themselves with friends and loved ones…. it’s gonna be ok.
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