Some clarification is in order.
Earlier I wrote a great piece about how despite all the bad things happening locally, personally, nationally, and internationally, I was giving myself permission to feel joy. A good sentiment. A really good thought. But I think I completely had this whole joy thing wrong. I made the mistake of thinking joy = happiness. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I tried. I really did. I tried hard. I wasn't going to let the little things get to me. I was going to be happy. Cheerful, even. Bad things were still happening to people I know, the world didn't disappoint in its ability to produce tragedies, but it wasn't going to get to me. No siree.
But you know what happens when you try to force yourself to feel happy? You feel even worse. I felt a certain pressure. Sad things normally make me feel sad, but suddenly that wasn't OK. Suddenly that was failure, and I was letting people down. And a sense of failure does not make spirits bright. And my kids were totally noticing it. One even commented on my "determination not to be happy". Really didn't make me feel any better.
And little things kept gnawing at my mood. A bad day at work, for example. The feeling that I've been (barely) fending off a sinus infection. One particularly bad night that involved a 6 year old who would not sleep and a Christmas party gone horribly wrong. That was the night I felt the snap. That little flicker of joy? It was gone. Over. Spiritually I cried "uncle". I'd had it. Pardon the expression, but joy be damned. So I updated my status to state that I was giving myself permission to be as grumpy as I wanted to be, causing some concern that I'd crossed over to the Grinch side.
But you know what? That's not really it, either. I'm feeling no animosity towards the holiday. In fact, I'm still eagerly looking forward to be big day, Christmas itself, when the preparations are largely over and the focus is just on being with my own little family and enjoying each others' company. And that moment is going to come, ready or not. And I truly believe that it will be wonderful.
I've come to realize that permission to feel joy does not mean that I don't have permission to feel anything less than wonderful. I just have to feel what I feel... and that's OK. The "real" Christmas story, after all, is hardly a laugh-fest. As people are fond of pointing out, Mary was the original unwed teen-aged mother, which was not exactly cool at the time. Most women I know would probably agree that giving birth outside, among the muck and smells of a stable, would be no picnic. And even after seeing her precious baby, the host of heavenly angels, and the visit from the magi, Mary had a strange foreboding that this story wasn't going to end particularly well. The holy family had to flee the country for their own safety, and there's the whole Slaughter of the Innocents thing. Good times, eh?
Some years Christmas just resonates on a whole different level.
I distinctly remember a Christmas that I think was 2 years ago. I was working at the shelter and worked the day of Christmas Eve. I left at the end of my shift but had some stops to make on my way home. The first was to deliver food, presents and medicine to a young mother whose daughter was sick with a bad cold or some such thing. The apartment complex she lived in would best be described as "sketchy". The sun had gone down but it was a warm night and rather foggy, so all the outside lights bathed everything in a weird, orange glow. As I was leaving her building I heard shouts and what sounded like the makings of a drunken fight a few buildings over. While I was driving to the next home to make another delivery, the Christmas music on the radio was interrupted to bring me an Amber Alert. A child was missing and feared to be in danger. Never had I felt so deeply how very broken our world is. But that night I had the opportunity to sing "Silent Night" by candlelight, and it was beautiful.
My kids just asked me this evening what they could do to make me happy. It's hard to explain, but I just want to tell them to let me be. Not in the sense of leaving me alone, but letting me be who I am feeling how I feel and just going with it. If I can acknowledge sorrow and frustration I can let it go. I can stay open to the possibility of joy knowing that I won't know exactly when and how it will happen, and that it's not for me to manufacture.
One last thought. I follow the "Cracked" page on Facebook and lately they've been hitting it out of the park. I believe that humor is a great vehicle for conveying truth in a way that it can be heard. And they had a great piece about the "real" meaning of Christmas that goes way beyond the biblical story. Once upon a time this was a seriously scary time of year here in the Northern climes. Not just the darkness, but the onset of cold, and if you hadn't adequately planned ahead for things like food or fuel you weren't going to be around to welcome the spring. So the writer pointed out that the great thing about humankind is that we could take this nightmarish scenario and decide to throw a party. We turned our bleakest moment into a time to celebrate love and generosity, and created pretty lights and such for the sole purpose of being pretty. And, you know what? That's a wonderful thing.
Did I say I don't care about Christmas? That's not true. I haven't given in to Grinchitude. I've given in to reality. I'm kind of emotionally exhausted, but I'm willing to go through the preparations because I know it's going to be worth it. Just let me take it at my own pace and don't expect me to necessarily have a smile on my face the whole time.
Feeling better already. Let the holiday begin!
Monday, December 22, 2014
Monday, December 8, 2014
Hosanna, Lord; My Pre-Christmas Letter
Oh, man. Here we go again. Or as Joni Mitchell so famously put it, "It's coming' on Christmas, they're cuttin' down trees...". It's that time of year. We've passed Thanksgiving, it's Advent at church. Time to get my holiday on!
Only I'm so not feeling it.
It's not that I feel hostility towards the whole Christmas thing, it's more of a detached indifference. I see the decorations going up around me but it doesn't occur to me that maybe I should be getting ready, too. And there's plenty to do, believe me. But I have a bad case of Holiday-Spirit Block.
I have a vague recollection of thinking that I wasn't going to miss 2013, that 2014 had to be better. Only it wasn't, really. And lately I feel God has really been throwing kidney punches at people I know and love. Friends and family alike. Against a backdrop of civil and international unrest.
But it's the personal pain that's getting to me the most. It seems just about everyone I know is going through a dark time. Maybe it's a season of life thing. Growing up and launching ourselves into the world was such a heady time. We celebrated each other's accomplishments, rejoiced in the finding of true love, welcomed the arrivals of new life into our families. But now we've gone through all those positives and the news is now sadder. Now we commiserate over untimely losses, failing health, broken relationships, financial reversals. There will be joy again in grandchildren, successful retirements, and making peace with our lives, but right now it seems to be all about the sorrow. And there is plenty of that to go around right now. So, yeah, I'm feeling a bit down.
But here's the thing. If I sit back and look at my immediate day-to-day life it's not too bad at all. I grouse about my house but feel blessed to have a home. My children are healthy, relatively happy, and surviving college quite well. I'm married to a guy who loves me and always has my back. I'm enjoying my new job, mostly. I should be able to focus on the positive and just forge ahead. But I've had a revelation. That's not me.
It's hard for me to be happy when others are unhappy. In psychobabble terms that would probably be called having weak boundaries. But it's who I am. I would be the aid worker who would feel too guilty to eat in a famine zone. I know and am related to people who are facing really tough stuff right now. Life-threatening illness. Sudden and unexpected passing. The indignities and sorrows of watching a loved one slowly decline. For the sake of brevity and privacy I'm not going to name you all. But if you are in my social sphere and know that you're going through it, I want you to know that I care. Very much. And I wish I knew what I could do to help things feel better.
So I've made what is, for me, a radical decision. I'm going to give myself permission to feel joy.
It feels a little wrong, like I'm ignoring what my loved ones are going through. But I've come to realize that the opposite of joy is despair, and despair is a paralyzing agent. Despair makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning. Despair is the little voice that says don't even try calling my friend because nothing I can say can make it any better. Despair says don't bother. Too much is out of my control and I can't change it.
Our secular version of Christmas makes it one big party from Halloween through January 2nd. I'm coming to appreciate the liturgical church point of view more and more. The season of Advent is not about the party. It's about preparing, watching and waiting for the Christmas party. My preparation this year is going to be finding and allowing joy. Joy energizes. It cares. It shows someone in darkness that there is light. I can't fix the problems but I can look someone in the eye and give them a genuine smile, and for that moment that person feels better. But I can't share it unless I have it.
After tonight I'm going to take a deep breath and dive in. Time to make the Christmas cards! Write the letter! Shop for the adopt-a-family! Make cookie dough! Break out the eggnog and start watching cheesy Christmas specials. I will only do for the holiday what I will enjoy and I will enjoy it all.
In my heart I will be saying hosanna. (Were you wondering about the title yet?)During Lent last year I learned that the original meaning of the word was not a cry of joy, but a petition, a cry for help. The Hebrew hoshana refers to rescue or saving. It's become my favorite prayer. Hosanna, Lord, hosanna. Be with those who are in pain and darkness. I am not helpless. I can perform a small act of kindness. I can make my small voice heard speaking truth to power, even if it's just an e-mail to an elected official. I can reach out to the loved one who is unhappy. And when it all gets too overwhelming, I can say hosanna. Lord, please come and help.
OK. Onward and upward. Those Christmas cards aren't gonna make themselves!
Only I'm so not feeling it.
It's not that I feel hostility towards the whole Christmas thing, it's more of a detached indifference. I see the decorations going up around me but it doesn't occur to me that maybe I should be getting ready, too. And there's plenty to do, believe me. But I have a bad case of Holiday-Spirit Block.
I have a vague recollection of thinking that I wasn't going to miss 2013, that 2014 had to be better. Only it wasn't, really. And lately I feel God has really been throwing kidney punches at people I know and love. Friends and family alike. Against a backdrop of civil and international unrest.
But it's the personal pain that's getting to me the most. It seems just about everyone I know is going through a dark time. Maybe it's a season of life thing. Growing up and launching ourselves into the world was such a heady time. We celebrated each other's accomplishments, rejoiced in the finding of true love, welcomed the arrivals of new life into our families. But now we've gone through all those positives and the news is now sadder. Now we commiserate over untimely losses, failing health, broken relationships, financial reversals. There will be joy again in grandchildren, successful retirements, and making peace with our lives, but right now it seems to be all about the sorrow. And there is plenty of that to go around right now. So, yeah, I'm feeling a bit down.
But here's the thing. If I sit back and look at my immediate day-to-day life it's not too bad at all. I grouse about my house but feel blessed to have a home. My children are healthy, relatively happy, and surviving college quite well. I'm married to a guy who loves me and always has my back. I'm enjoying my new job, mostly. I should be able to focus on the positive and just forge ahead. But I've had a revelation. That's not me.
It's hard for me to be happy when others are unhappy. In psychobabble terms that would probably be called having weak boundaries. But it's who I am. I would be the aid worker who would feel too guilty to eat in a famine zone. I know and am related to people who are facing really tough stuff right now. Life-threatening illness. Sudden and unexpected passing. The indignities and sorrows of watching a loved one slowly decline. For the sake of brevity and privacy I'm not going to name you all. But if you are in my social sphere and know that you're going through it, I want you to know that I care. Very much. And I wish I knew what I could do to help things feel better.
So I've made what is, for me, a radical decision. I'm going to give myself permission to feel joy.
It feels a little wrong, like I'm ignoring what my loved ones are going through. But I've come to realize that the opposite of joy is despair, and despair is a paralyzing agent. Despair makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning. Despair is the little voice that says don't even try calling my friend because nothing I can say can make it any better. Despair says don't bother. Too much is out of my control and I can't change it.
Our secular version of Christmas makes it one big party from Halloween through January 2nd. I'm coming to appreciate the liturgical church point of view more and more. The season of Advent is not about the party. It's about preparing, watching and waiting for the Christmas party. My preparation this year is going to be finding and allowing joy. Joy energizes. It cares. It shows someone in darkness that there is light. I can't fix the problems but I can look someone in the eye and give them a genuine smile, and for that moment that person feels better. But I can't share it unless I have it.
After tonight I'm going to take a deep breath and dive in. Time to make the Christmas cards! Write the letter! Shop for the adopt-a-family! Make cookie dough! Break out the eggnog and start watching cheesy Christmas specials. I will only do for the holiday what I will enjoy and I will enjoy it all.
In my heart I will be saying hosanna. (Were you wondering about the title yet?)During Lent last year I learned that the original meaning of the word was not a cry of joy, but a petition, a cry for help. The Hebrew hoshana refers to rescue or saving. It's become my favorite prayer. Hosanna, Lord, hosanna. Be with those who are in pain and darkness. I am not helpless. I can perform a small act of kindness. I can make my small voice heard speaking truth to power, even if it's just an e-mail to an elected official. I can reach out to the loved one who is unhappy. And when it all gets too overwhelming, I can say hosanna. Lord, please come and help.
OK. Onward and upward. Those Christmas cards aren't gonna make themselves!
Friday, July 11, 2014
I've Lost My Sense of Direction! (Have I tried Hare Krishna?)
(The title is my favorite running gag from the original Muppet Movie. WARNING: Read farther only if you can stomach self-absorbed whining.)
My baby graduated high school last month.
Instantly I was transported back to my high school graduation. Our high school gym was having asbestos removed so the ceremony was held outside with no back-up plan for rain because the senior class voted not to use the gym the next town over, our sports rival. The day dawned sunny and fair, turned cloudy as the morning progressed, and started dripping rain as we processed to "Pomp and Circumstance". As the ceremony progressed it turn to a steady shower. Water dripped off our mortarboards.
I clearly recall sitting on the stage and feeling the enormity of the moment. I was being launched into the world. It's one of those moments in life when you look around wondering when the grown-up is going to show up. The world was an open book, the story still unwritten.
Terrifying.
It only recently occurred to me why the ghost of that feeling haunted my daughter's graduation. My role as school mom was over. I'd recently lost my job. Come fall I wouldn't have the daughters around occupy my time. The world is an open book, the story still unwritten.
Still terrifying.
And worse. Infinitely worse. I've always been deeply envious of people who have callings, who know where they want to go and what they want to be. My picture has always been fuzzy. There was theater, but it didn't take me long to realize I didn't have what it takes. Ditto with singing. Psychology was my fall-back because I've always had a fascination with people. I did not, however, share the same passion for statistics and computers which came dangerously close to tanking my college career.
I've tried out multiple jobs and each time I went through a phase of thinking "this is it". When I first worked at the shelter I contemplated an MSW (nope). When I worked at the law office I contemplated law school (nope). When I worked in the kitchen of a nursing home I contemplated getting certified as a dietary supervisor (nope). Once I was back at the shelter I was contemplated becoming a licensed practical counselor.
You know, getting fired is really a kidney-punch to the self-esteem. Especially, I think, in this case. It was not a "gee you're a great person but the money just isn't there" sort of thing. It was personal. It was because of me, who I am and what I did. I have a slight problem with authority in that I recognize it but expect to be respected in return. If I perceive that I am not being respected then I don't really care who you are. This has led to some bridges being burned, torn-up, and pulled down.
I think I've previously mentioned that I've likened my work history to unsuccessful romantic relationships. As I recently told a friend of mine "I really thought this job was the one". I was terrified to return to the shelter but I picked it right back up. It ignited my passion, gave me an identity, allowed me a measure of financial security. But that demon burn-out was snapping at my heels having been given a head start 25 years ago. And I threw it all away. I blew it. I did it. No one else to point to but me. I feel like a toddler who's had her favorite toy ripped out of her hands because she wouldn't stop bashing it against the back of the driver's seat.
So here I sit. Most people my age are probably approaching the pinnacles of their careers. I'm looking over the scorched remains of my employment history. Every time I pull money from the ATM I'm painfully aware that it's not going back. Solidly middle-aged with a bizarre interrupted resume. Not sure I would want to hire me.
Terrifying.
Even worse, I'm sliding into the unemployed slump, exacerbated by the fact that it's summertime. I sleep late because, hey, no place I need to be. No need to dress up for anything. I have lots of house projects to work on but, hey, I got lots of time. Nothing but time. It stretches like taffy.
I know it simply means that there is something better for me out there. But I would love to have a clue, a plan, a leading for what I should be doing right now. I should be enjoying this last summer with my daughters but it's hard when there's not an end in sight. Just another day of rolling out of bed, having my coffee, figuring out what to do. It's like The Talking Heads said "Heaven... heaven is a place...a place where nothing... nothing ever happens..."
My, I'm a bundle of joy, aren't I? Well it's not so much fun to be living it, either.
I've lost my sense of direction. Does anyone know where to find The Reverend Harry Krishna?
My baby graduated high school last month.
Instantly I was transported back to my high school graduation. Our high school gym was having asbestos removed so the ceremony was held outside with no back-up plan for rain because the senior class voted not to use the gym the next town over, our sports rival. The day dawned sunny and fair, turned cloudy as the morning progressed, and started dripping rain as we processed to "Pomp and Circumstance". As the ceremony progressed it turn to a steady shower. Water dripped off our mortarboards.
I clearly recall sitting on the stage and feeling the enormity of the moment. I was being launched into the world. It's one of those moments in life when you look around wondering when the grown-up is going to show up. The world was an open book, the story still unwritten.
Terrifying.
It only recently occurred to me why the ghost of that feeling haunted my daughter's graduation. My role as school mom was over. I'd recently lost my job. Come fall I wouldn't have the daughters around occupy my time. The world is an open book, the story still unwritten.
Still terrifying.
And worse. Infinitely worse. I've always been deeply envious of people who have callings, who know where they want to go and what they want to be. My picture has always been fuzzy. There was theater, but it didn't take me long to realize I didn't have what it takes. Ditto with singing. Psychology was my fall-back because I've always had a fascination with people. I did not, however, share the same passion for statistics and computers which came dangerously close to tanking my college career.
I've tried out multiple jobs and each time I went through a phase of thinking "this is it". When I first worked at the shelter I contemplated an MSW (nope). When I worked at the law office I contemplated law school (nope). When I worked in the kitchen of a nursing home I contemplated getting certified as a dietary supervisor (nope). Once I was back at the shelter I was contemplated becoming a licensed practical counselor.
You know, getting fired is really a kidney-punch to the self-esteem. Especially, I think, in this case. It was not a "gee you're a great person but the money just isn't there" sort of thing. It was personal. It was because of me, who I am and what I did. I have a slight problem with authority in that I recognize it but expect to be respected in return. If I perceive that I am not being respected then I don't really care who you are. This has led to some bridges being burned, torn-up, and pulled down.
I think I've previously mentioned that I've likened my work history to unsuccessful romantic relationships. As I recently told a friend of mine "I really thought this job was the one". I was terrified to return to the shelter but I picked it right back up. It ignited my passion, gave me an identity, allowed me a measure of financial security. But that demon burn-out was snapping at my heels having been given a head start 25 years ago. And I threw it all away. I blew it. I did it. No one else to point to but me. I feel like a toddler who's had her favorite toy ripped out of her hands because she wouldn't stop bashing it against the back of the driver's seat.
So here I sit. Most people my age are probably approaching the pinnacles of their careers. I'm looking over the scorched remains of my employment history. Every time I pull money from the ATM I'm painfully aware that it's not going back. Solidly middle-aged with a bizarre interrupted resume. Not sure I would want to hire me.
Terrifying.
Even worse, I'm sliding into the unemployed slump, exacerbated by the fact that it's summertime. I sleep late because, hey, no place I need to be. No need to dress up for anything. I have lots of house projects to work on but, hey, I got lots of time. Nothing but time. It stretches like taffy.
I know it simply means that there is something better for me out there. But I would love to have a clue, a plan, a leading for what I should be doing right now. I should be enjoying this last summer with my daughters but it's hard when there's not an end in sight. Just another day of rolling out of bed, having my coffee, figuring out what to do. It's like The Talking Heads said "Heaven... heaven is a place...a place where nothing... nothing ever happens..."
My, I'm a bundle of joy, aren't I? Well it's not so much fun to be living it, either.
I've lost my sense of direction. Does anyone know where to find The Reverend Harry Krishna?
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Square Peg
It's true. Today is my birthday. I'm officially kicking-off the 50th year of my existence.
When you're a kid that seems so old. As one ages it becomes progressively younger. Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine and the persistent immaturity of the post World War II generations, 50 really has become the new 30. Thirty used to be the time for a person to sit back and think, "Gee. What am I doing with this life thing anyway?". Now that era of life is about paying off those student loans, trying to establish the career, popping out the kids ahead of the biological clock. Not much time for reflection.
I also had the advantage of having a mom who came into her own later in life. Having 6 kids will do that to ya. I always told myself I had time. If I didn't have a Master's Degree until I was 50, that was OK. I'm only now going to be launching my youngest into the world this fall. The new chapter is just beginning.
I think I've written about my work history before. I liken my job history to people who repeatedly find themselves in unhealthy, unstable relationships. The combination of having bills to pay, a fairly low boredom tolerance, and feminist guilt make being unemployed really uncomfortable for me. As a consequence I tend to jump into the first thing that comes along, then am somehow surprised when it all ends badly.
First it was the DV shelter right out of college. I got that job because I'd been an intern there my senior year. The director at the time was incredibly lazy about hiring people and credentials were never a factor. She hired me because, hey, I was already there. The director was actually pretty lackadaisical about every aspect of running the program, so at the ripe old age of 24 I was completely burnt out. Tom and I had taken a month-long vacation (no children yet) and I had the opportunity to remember what it felt like to be relaxed and happy. I knew I had to quit, and did.
This was followed by a stint with the Oberlin College food service which wasn't too bad. But I was young and thought maybe I had gone to school for a reason. So when the next offer came along, I jumped.
One day an attorney I knew in town asked me to stop by his office. Since we were both very involved in the same church I figured it had something to do with that. You have to picture the scene: I had recently returned from vacation and had a friend who had corn-rowed my hair for the occasion. I strolled into the office, my hair beads a-clinking, rocking a tie-dyed dress and moccasins. I was the only one there who did not know that I was gong to be offered a job as a legal assistant. Another boss who didn't really care about credentials.
That job actually lasted 9, at times, tumultuous years. But then the firm's partners underwent what was an essentially ugly business divorce, and I took sides in the client custody fight, and it wasn't with the guy who hired me. We actually got into yelling matches. I literally walked out one morning.
Back to food service. Got myself hired at a quality local restaurant. I was the oldest person there. I also had small children and spotty childcare, especially since my boss refused to put me on a regular schedule. We took an instant dislike to each other. I took a lengthy vacation with very little notice. I was not fired, but neither was I ever put back on the schedule.
After a brief fling with childcare, I used another personal connection to get a job in the kitchen of a nursing home. (Yay! Food service! My years at Oberlin were not wasted after all!). It was the physically hardest job I ever had. I also learned I was not cut out for it at all. I had great rapport with the residents, but I overthought everything I did which made me slow. One year, right before Christmas, we had a staff meeting and learned that the dietary department had been outsourced and we were all working for a new (horrible) company. I mean, these people were bastards. It was clear that they wanted to run off as many of the higher-paid, veteran workers as they could. It was all about how fast you could work, not how well you could work. I was working with people who needed this job to support themselves. I was doing it for the luxury of a 2nd income. So I decided to go out in a blaze. Once again I was having yelling matches with my superior. The breaking point for them was when I hung signs in the break room and by the time clock saying what the new company was doing to my fellow employees and suggesting that the other departments unionize. Once again, I wasn't exactly fired, just never put on the schedule. My supervisor, the woman I knew who had been my connection with the job, was told that if someone called off SHE would be expected to cover the shift and NOT CALL ME.
On my own again.
This led to another and much longer childcare stint. I didn't stay home with my kids when they were babies and that may have been a good thing. I loved the child to pieces, still do, but it takes infinite patience and a high tolerance for boredom and mindless, repetitive games to make it with children without going insane. Plus the fact that little charges grow up. My kids were finally big enough to be pretty independent and I felt I was done with my child-rearing days.
Now what?
I came full circle. Through a chance encounter my husband had with the director of the new improved DV shelter I found out that she would be willing to hire me. I knew her from the old days. In fact, I had trained her when she was the new hire at the shelter. Even though I never, ever thought I could do that sort of work again, I fell back into it. After some initial terror, I even liked being back. One of my strongest skills is dealing with people, all sorts of people, and it was like riding a bicycle. I hopped on the seat and took off. It felt like I'd finally found (re-found, actually) my calling.
But it's also stressful. So stressful that not long after I started the director, the woman I knew who had given me the job, resigned. Despite staff misgivings a woman who had previously been a manager of the shelter returned as director. I had no history with her so I was willing to give it a shot. And, I thought, we clicked pretty well.
But it's stressful. It's painful to witness the inadequacies of what we call "the social safety net". Poverty is ugly. People suffer. Life is unfair. People sabotage themselves. And aging parents require attention. And bad things happen to people I care about. Sometimes it feels like it's coming atcha from all sides. Then I started getting in trouble for not performing my job adequately, I wasn't meeting requirements I didn't even know I had. I felt like I'd been set-up for failure. I started to seethe. I started ranting to co-workers. I decided the healthier, saner, thing to do would be to express my frustration directly to the director. I wrote her an e-mail and I didn't pull my punches.
And I was fired.
Happy birthday to me. It's my 49th birthday, the beginning of my 50th year on the planet. No, I don't have my Master's degree. I don't have a job. Just a strong feeling of "here I go again". Too spacey for waitressing, too slow for physical labor, too hard and hot-headed to swallow my pride for a boss.
It's a bittersweet birthday. I do feel a sense of a weight being lifted. I'm really not as upset as I expected. But I have kids going to college and it's a bad time to lose what had been a pretty good income. And if God slammed the door I'm having trouble seeing the window. A window I can fit through, at any rate.
Feeling very much like a square peg who just can't bring herself to wriggle into those round holes.
When you're a kid that seems so old. As one ages it becomes progressively younger. Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine and the persistent immaturity of the post World War II generations, 50 really has become the new 30. Thirty used to be the time for a person to sit back and think, "Gee. What am I doing with this life thing anyway?". Now that era of life is about paying off those student loans, trying to establish the career, popping out the kids ahead of the biological clock. Not much time for reflection.
I also had the advantage of having a mom who came into her own later in life. Having 6 kids will do that to ya. I always told myself I had time. If I didn't have a Master's Degree until I was 50, that was OK. I'm only now going to be launching my youngest into the world this fall. The new chapter is just beginning.
I think I've written about my work history before. I liken my job history to people who repeatedly find themselves in unhealthy, unstable relationships. The combination of having bills to pay, a fairly low boredom tolerance, and feminist guilt make being unemployed really uncomfortable for me. As a consequence I tend to jump into the first thing that comes along, then am somehow surprised when it all ends badly.
First it was the DV shelter right out of college. I got that job because I'd been an intern there my senior year. The director at the time was incredibly lazy about hiring people and credentials were never a factor. She hired me because, hey, I was already there. The director was actually pretty lackadaisical about every aspect of running the program, so at the ripe old age of 24 I was completely burnt out. Tom and I had taken a month-long vacation (no children yet) and I had the opportunity to remember what it felt like to be relaxed and happy. I knew I had to quit, and did.
This was followed by a stint with the Oberlin College food service which wasn't too bad. But I was young and thought maybe I had gone to school for a reason. So when the next offer came along, I jumped.
One day an attorney I knew in town asked me to stop by his office. Since we were both very involved in the same church I figured it had something to do with that. You have to picture the scene: I had recently returned from vacation and had a friend who had corn-rowed my hair for the occasion. I strolled into the office, my hair beads a-clinking, rocking a tie-dyed dress and moccasins. I was the only one there who did not know that I was gong to be offered a job as a legal assistant. Another boss who didn't really care about credentials.
That job actually lasted 9, at times, tumultuous years. But then the firm's partners underwent what was an essentially ugly business divorce, and I took sides in the client custody fight, and it wasn't with the guy who hired me. We actually got into yelling matches. I literally walked out one morning.
Back to food service. Got myself hired at a quality local restaurant. I was the oldest person there. I also had small children and spotty childcare, especially since my boss refused to put me on a regular schedule. We took an instant dislike to each other. I took a lengthy vacation with very little notice. I was not fired, but neither was I ever put back on the schedule.
After a brief fling with childcare, I used another personal connection to get a job in the kitchen of a nursing home. (Yay! Food service! My years at Oberlin were not wasted after all!). It was the physically hardest job I ever had. I also learned I was not cut out for it at all. I had great rapport with the residents, but I overthought everything I did which made me slow. One year, right before Christmas, we had a staff meeting and learned that the dietary department had been outsourced and we were all working for a new (horrible) company. I mean, these people were bastards. It was clear that they wanted to run off as many of the higher-paid, veteran workers as they could. It was all about how fast you could work, not how well you could work. I was working with people who needed this job to support themselves. I was doing it for the luxury of a 2nd income. So I decided to go out in a blaze. Once again I was having yelling matches with my superior. The breaking point for them was when I hung signs in the break room and by the time clock saying what the new company was doing to my fellow employees and suggesting that the other departments unionize. Once again, I wasn't exactly fired, just never put on the schedule. My supervisor, the woman I knew who had been my connection with the job, was told that if someone called off SHE would be expected to cover the shift and NOT CALL ME.
On my own again.
This led to another and much longer childcare stint. I didn't stay home with my kids when they were babies and that may have been a good thing. I loved the child to pieces, still do, but it takes infinite patience and a high tolerance for boredom and mindless, repetitive games to make it with children without going insane. Plus the fact that little charges grow up. My kids were finally big enough to be pretty independent and I felt I was done with my child-rearing days.
Now what?
I came full circle. Through a chance encounter my husband had with the director of the new improved DV shelter I found out that she would be willing to hire me. I knew her from the old days. In fact, I had trained her when she was the new hire at the shelter. Even though I never, ever thought I could do that sort of work again, I fell back into it. After some initial terror, I even liked being back. One of my strongest skills is dealing with people, all sorts of people, and it was like riding a bicycle. I hopped on the seat and took off. It felt like I'd finally found (re-found, actually) my calling.
But it's also stressful. So stressful that not long after I started the director, the woman I knew who had given me the job, resigned. Despite staff misgivings a woman who had previously been a manager of the shelter returned as director. I had no history with her so I was willing to give it a shot. And, I thought, we clicked pretty well.
But it's stressful. It's painful to witness the inadequacies of what we call "the social safety net". Poverty is ugly. People suffer. Life is unfair. People sabotage themselves. And aging parents require attention. And bad things happen to people I care about. Sometimes it feels like it's coming atcha from all sides. Then I started getting in trouble for not performing my job adequately, I wasn't meeting requirements I didn't even know I had. I felt like I'd been set-up for failure. I started to seethe. I started ranting to co-workers. I decided the healthier, saner, thing to do would be to express my frustration directly to the director. I wrote her an e-mail and I didn't pull my punches.
And I was fired.
Happy birthday to me. It's my 49th birthday, the beginning of my 50th year on the planet. No, I don't have my Master's degree. I don't have a job. Just a strong feeling of "here I go again". Too spacey for waitressing, too slow for physical labor, too hard and hot-headed to swallow my pride for a boss.
It's a bittersweet birthday. I do feel a sense of a weight being lifted. I'm really not as upset as I expected. But I have kids going to college and it's a bad time to lose what had been a pretty good income. And if God slammed the door I'm having trouble seeing the window. A window I can fit through, at any rate.
Feeling very much like a square peg who just can't bring herself to wriggle into those round holes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)