87 feet under.

A few nights ago, after a three-mile run to wind down the day, I was trudging up the stairs, dragging my traffic-cone orange feet with every step (the color from my fluorescent shoes, not the natural hue of my skin), longing to stand under the hottest possible water in the nearest possible shower (two feet in front of me by this point) to ease my tired body and mind, to warm me after the unforgiving air on any December evening. 

Every winter, I struggle with the same dryness in my skin, a parched state that comes only because I can't follow the simple rule of shorter showers during the colder months. It dries you out, everyone knows and says, it's not good for you, keep the water lukewarm. Well, I say to myself, being submerged in near-boiling (okay okay, not quite) is just about the only time from November to February that I'm not freezing my ass off, aside from blasting the heat in my teeny-tiny car (which I'm told is also a no-no), coupled with just about the only time in my entire day that nobody is able to reach me, talk to me, or intrude. Well.

So then, what do you do when the water stops?


What happens in that very moment when you are head to toe in bubbly lather, soap upon soap to rinse away the day, the waning pressure easing up against my sore shoulders, my tired frame, and the water halts, a sudden cease, not even time to fade from a stream to a drip, just


stops?


Let me explain. While this is a true story and this did in fact happen a mere few days ago, there is more to it than the inconvenience at not being able to shower for a. warmth, and b. the general sweaty state involved after a workout of any kind. It's unfortunate, and it sucks, but. Things break, and time wears against at all physical things, possessions lose value, erosion hacks away the dollar signs of any profit, even hard-working tools of our lives can cease to function, heave a life-worn sigh, and rest. (We have a well that is as old as our home. The pump to said well, 80+ feet in the ground, pumped its very last, with what I have to believe was with all its rusty might.)


It seems unfair, usually, or unbelievable, because we have a very firm and skewed belief that our investments negate natural error. The higher the price, the greater the likelihood that our, well, stuff will last forever, that we will always be able to afford the best, that our brainpower for invention will win out. Think of it as an even-God-couldn't-sink-this-ship complex. If you've seen one Titanic, you've seen them all. 


It's probably what led me to balk in disbelief as I stood, covered in suds, shivering and twisting the shower knob frantically. It's probably what makes me wrinkle my nose when my car's engine light blinks rapidly and furiously. It's most likely what makes me scratch my head with one hand, hold my college degree in the other, and wonder where the time has gone. 


The thing about guarantees is that they are temporary, which often makes them maybes at best. It doesn't make us defeated before we've even tried, and it doesn't suddenly deem certain things useless or not worth aiming for. I'm not saying college was a mistake. Where I thought it would bring me, however, is somewhere very different from where I actually stand. The mistake might lie in that I expected a more irrefutable outcome, that things would fall into a particular line in a shorte, more manageable  time frame, that I wouldn't find myself constantly elbowing against the crowd around me, all fighting for the same thing: We all want a seat on the same tiny lifeboat, all in hopes that we can escape this goddamn sinking ship. 


So? There have to be alternatives, and realizing that sooner rather than later will save you a lot of personal grief and disappointment. So we shower at the gym (yuck), or at a friend's house, or we ... don't? So you use a bottle of convenience store water to rinse away what remains. Or, on the greater scale, so we learn to swim, so we get some killer quad muscles treading deep ocean waters, so we float on until someone comes to our rescue, so we fight to keep our heads from sinking. The dead ends are self-imposed, so what I suggest is that we free ourselves from believing we have run out of options, that when things fail we've failed, and start asserting that when life is not abiding by our plans or rules that there is something better to be discovered, something beyond what we ever could have imagined for ourselves.


Truly, it would be easier if there were a personalized raft to rescue us from our own particular problems in our own particular sea. But the water is stopping completely, or it's rising fast around us, and no one is going to wait around for you to break out the shovel or start building the sturdiest of dams. It's an opportunity to both roll on and fight back, change perspectives and repair. If it's not what you anticipated, you are surely not alone. But rather than focusing on your disbelief, on your quandary with life's sudden curves, give your attention to your next move up, the ways to push forward, the new attempts you will make. To the ocean, deep into the earth, go forth go forth and go forth.

Jobs.

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.” 

Steve Jobs said that. And, while I am convinced there can't be anyone these days who is unaware of Mr. Jobs contribution to society, to heightened interaction, to technology as a whole, should that remain a possibility, you can read more about him here. 


Steve Jobs, chief executive officer of Apple Inc., without a doubt the company that catalysts the majority of the technological advancements we see day to day, died on October 5th of this year, at the age of 56, in his own home. When someone of such remarkable influence departs from the world, we sense it, we know the shift, the sudden and heavy change in the air. Mr. Jobs passed on an inventor, a genius, an entrepreneur and an inspiration. Right? Even as I write this now, I am typing across the well-worn keys of a MacBook Pro. My iPhone is sitting next to me on the bed, plugged in and amped up, humming after a long day of scrolling through websites, emailing sisters, FaceTiming with mom, updating statuses, checking the weather. I just about never leave home without my iPod, music trailing me wherever I go. 


So what does this all mean? That Steve Jobs left a legacy, one we're all bound and able to appreciate, and that's that? In some ways, to some people, maybe. And even though I didn't follow his career as avidly as others did, I found his ventures and talks interesting, fascinating at times, and these particular words of his wise and honest, a simple message aiming for the truth, and hitting it square in the forehead, hard. I am convinced that in order to urge others not to settle, Mr. Jobs himself must have been aware of what it is to find what you love to do. Clearly what he found himself in the midst of was great work, his own great work, work that moved him, work he excelled at, work he was meant for, work that meant more than just a paycheck and a place to spend your weekdays. (Or weeknights, or weekends, or all of the above. For some of us, the days all blend into one.)


I understand what he's saying about work filling a large part of your life. Most days, all days, I can't understand myself, why I'm committing the biggest chunks of my time to a company and a place that I'm not proud to be a part of, that I don't respect, that brings me down, that seemingly wastes my talents, though that last part seems to be self-allowed. In one day increments, in one-shift-at-a-time sized measurements, it doesn't seem so hard to grasp (usually); it seems adult-like, responsible, almost necessary, from the perspective of money, money, money, an evil unto itself, I'm afraid. But when examined from a larger perspective, when I sadly realize that two years of my life have been spent in a place that has brought me no closer to what I truly want, it motivates something stronger, something bigger, it forces me to want to burst through the smudgy glass doors, dramatically and defiantly, to walk out and never return. Great work, he says? Well, I will find GREAT WORK, but it will have to be somewhere other than here. 


Somehow, though, to my own detriment, or from my own sense of what growing up, what facing reality seems to mean, though that changes every day, I have stayed. I have stayed and I have waited. I don't wait idly; I put forth and expect. I send out for things that I believe would suit me to my very soul, I send out for others that would likely be no more befitting than where I already struggle. And all along I have always thought a similar idea, or hoped for it, as this one that Mr. Jobs has so accurately and honestly worded: that our lives are meant for our own version of great work. Great work that is not necessarily great money or big houses or fierce fame. Though these are things Mr. Jobs certainly acquired, they were not the point. He did something to be proud of, something that moved him specifically, something that we all have to assume couldn't be accomplished by any one else. The bonuses are bonuses. The real feat is finding what we're meant for. 


I never met Steve Jobs. I don't know if he had any regrets, if he would have changed anything about his life having been given the opportunity. I don't know if he would have liked more time to figure all of this out, if he felt like he did everything he could have done, seen everything he could have seen. Me, merely a Apple user for life, I could never know. I feel it would be fair to guess, however, that asserting this idea of great work like he did, of so purely submitting that we will know when something is right, that he spoke from experience, which is the only way we can ever really convey the truth of any matter. He must have known what it was to settle as much as he knew what it was to rise above it. And while it can be easy to think, well yeah, when you have that much change in your pocket, or that much brains in your head, why shouldn't things work out positively for you, think again. Compromising or conditioning what we can achieve is settling in its own way, it's limiting ourselves before we've even set out or begun. 


I think that it's certainly hard to imagine things being better, or even different, when we've been facing the same four walls longer than we care to realize. Time can feel unbearably slow, like it's just outside of our grasp, things can seem like they're barely coming together, fate can prove uncooperative. After all this, I don't know how we can be sure when things are right, but I'm looking forward to finding out. 


And somehow, reading (and re-reading) those words feels more like hearing the advice of an old friend, of someone who understands the struggle, of someone who truly believes succeeding matters to you for more than the income or the status, but for the condition of your well-being, of protecting and cultivating the person that you are. With that, Mr. Jobs becomes Steve, a legacy to be retold, and the words hang fast with a steady echo of the ones I remember most: Don't settle. Don't settle.  


And we won't.

Year 25.

As far as inspiration goes, and whether or not it comes in waves or merely trickles steadily on, this past week I was lucky enough to get a mountain's worth, an overflow, a beacon flame in the dark. It would be fair and accurate to state that I haven't been feeling up to the challenges I encounter, even less so lately. And turning certain corners to find myself face to face with the fact of time is something I trained myself to fear, not anticipate. To dread, even. Another year gone by, even a month, a week, a day, is suddenly more passage that suddenly demands my intentions, that wants to know if I've made the most of what's before me, if I've achieved my goals and carried on.

One of the things people will never tell you about goals is that self-motivation is only a mere sliver, one tiny particle, the smallest element in any concoction. Yes, it's what sets everything off, or in place, or makes the world go round and round. It is the largest necessity yet with the smallest of influences, and still nothing would get along without it. But (because you knew there would be one), it isn't everything. All the motivation and list-making in the world won't change, well, the world. Waiting for everyone else to get on board is the tricky part, and the weary part, and the thing that makes our hearts tired, our minds twisted, and our inspiration flicker. It's the catch-twenty-two of all things, and even knowing so won't stop us from falling towards the lure, of giving in, of shrugging our tired shoulders as if to say, so what, it's not that bad. 

While I have yet to reach that state of melancholy, because (I'm finding this will be the politest possible way to say this) there is no chance in hell I could ever feel any satisfaction, whether initially or over time, when a green apron and a wailing siren are involved. Still, there is truth when I admit it has become more difficult to keep my head up against this storm in which I've been standing. Some days are less aggressive, some days I have no idea how I'll make it out intact. Today, I'm drenched, but I can keep up. 

What I've found to be the biggest support that creates the greatest good is having anyone around you, in your life, before you or behind you, who believes you are capable of the things you want. It doesn't take much to lose your own faith in your abilities, in your own self. Personally speaking, one wrong move, one more rejection shot, one more someone-else-got-there-before-me, and suddenly I'm sitting outside during my lunch break, sobbing on the phone, speaking incoherently, mascara everywhere. It's the goddamn truth, it is. While I must admit we all may need a moment like that every now and then, if for no other reason but to remind us of our craziness, to reground us temporarily, what would be better is if we could, despite the surroundings, remember what we are good at, what we can achieve, what we label, in glitter paint and glue, as our strengths. 

That way, when the clarity becomes the hazy, and we're sure that there is nothing else for us, we have those nearby to re-guide us to where we've gone off track, to remind us of what our tantrums have made us lose sight of, to gently chide us, to shove us towards what we're meant for, to forgive us for forgetting. They understand our frustration, they know how forcing patience bends us to discomfort, they agree that the other factors should hurry along, should catch up to what we wish was already happening and make this transition smoother, more bearable, faster. 


So with another notch on the wall, another year of wandering about to add to my written repertoire, to chalk up on the board of my life experience, I find, without hesitation, that I have not wasted one minute. How do I know? Circumstances aside, or imagining them differently, doesn't take away from what I DO have, the invaluable things, the things that people long for all their lives. Would I tweak a few things here and there, would I add a new backdrop or blur some lines, sure. Are things like I imagined they would be at 25, or at all, for that matter? No; but then again, they never are. Changing my job won't change my life. It could improve it, and make no mistake, I'm not giving up. But what I have now, the big and small pieces of my life that create me, support me, hold me fast, those things at the heart of the matter, where it means the most, are where I truly find my happiness. It's my constant choice, one we have to make in spite of, not because of. If we're basing our joys on what surrounds us, the list goes on and on of reasons to cross our arms in a huff, hate everything, and refuse change. So if we can't have things in the timing we desire, the least (AND most) we can do is celebrate the aspects of our lives we're already lucky to have. It's important, it will fuel us, it will bring us closer to what we want, it will guide us. Probably in a different way than we think is best, probably through darkness and peril and times of loneliness. In the end, though. Wherever the end is, whatever labels we've acquired, skills, experiences, losses, it is all that we are. Forgetting that for just a second would be the waste. Wishing to undo what we've gone through, what challenges us daily, would be a lot less interesting, a lot less motivating, a duller version of the lives we're blessed to lead. It's not perfect, nor will it ever be. But it is very, very good.  

A fantastic print, which I will aim to live by, that was given to me by my love.

faded, dusty jumpsuit.

Well?


I am tired of silence.
I am losing my mind with this lack of change. 
And I am sick of looking at job websites. 


The internet makes my eyes hurt, and the lack of prospects cause an even bigger pain at the direct center of my head, just about the place where I imagine my brain used to be, before it ever so slowly (and dramatically) over the last hour and a half disentigrated into dust, fell out through my ears and nose and eyes, and left my body forever. 


Oh yeah. That's the mental, (despite my newly brainless quality), state that I am currently in. Hopelessness and disappointment are one hell of a chummy pair these days. 


Still, things seem bleak if we focus only on the bleakness, on the lack of color, of choice, of opportunity. No, there's nothing (today) that I find interesting, nothing I feel compelled to try or inclined to want, as I scroll and scan and read and sigh. And, if there was anything in the world more frustrating (and confusing) as an online job description, I haven't found it yet, and I hope I never do. Seriously. Somebody should just hire ME to write clear, concise, un-flowerly and direct descriptions of what their positions require and expect. Ninety-nine percent of these sites have baffled me to the point of giving up: the dangerously long run-on sentences, the nonsensical drama of what they will and will not allow, all in a whirlwind of misused punctuation. More often than not they have me closing the window in a huff and stress-eating, as I rewrite the muddy paragraph in my head, using short, concise points, all evenly spaced and numbered, with the best of intentions. Hear that, universe? I'm putting myself out there!


Still, the job market knows what it's doing. They've developed quite a few clever (or, as I prefer, sneaky) ways of dissuading peoples' applications before the process has even taken off. To start, discombobulated explanations of what they desire in a fitting candidate (as well as the exaggerated years of experience they'd like you to have under your belt) is where they start in order to weed out the amount of resumes they will suddenly find themselves buried under. Who can blame them, I suppose? STILL, if you'd like to be one of the many that makes it through to the other side, the point is to not be discouraged by what the page demands. Most employers know they're reaching too high, and assume that if you feel less than qualified, you will just go on your way, to the next page, the next site, and finish up in time for your 1 o'clock shift. Sigh freaking sigh, everyone.


The world we live in isn't exactly designed to welcome you with open arms. They want you to fight back a little, to force your way in, to get past the obstacles and get through the hoops. And even after all that, you still might not be invited. And once you're in? Even then? They'll make you fight to keep what you feel you've already rightfully earned. Dog-eat-dog is no joke, and no understatement. Not that I don't have the fight in me (trust me, I always have a fist clenched and a comeback prepared), but I'm lately starting to wonder what I really want, versus what I've been trying to be. Essentially, it's pretty tough to win the battle when you aren't exactly sure what you're fighting for. And don't be confused, it is not a lack a motivation, or even a lack of direction. Rather, it might be an inclination for a different way altogether. Though writing is an undeniable part of my life, a thing through which I function, it's my dominant arm, hand, brain-side, quality, force of life, perhaps I need to take a step or two backwards in order to see the best way I can use this talent, this urge, this way to be. If I can pretty clearly imagine where I don't belong, it's probably time I figured out where I do. 


Easier said than done, as most things are. I mean, this world will find a way to convince you that you can't do the things that mean the most to you, that you will never be certain things, that without health benefits (important, but not the most important) you are doomed. This is a strict system that insists you either get on board or be left behind. I'm just looking for the loopholes, the ones that encourage my left-brain, the ones that understand why we need that creative diversion more than a bigger office or a three-day weekend. I want to feel free, in the real sense. In the big sense. I can live life in an adult way, I can grow up without growing old, and I want to be here in order to protect the best sense of myself, the parts of me that I can't give up or compromise. In terms of earning an income while living by these standards, well. I don't know. There has to be a way, and I aim to find it. I don't know what this is going to require of me, something altogether different or more of the same. More patience, probably, which I will every so often have to remind myself to keep. Probably another stab at holding on to hope, possibly the realization that not every dismissal is personal, if any at all are. I may have to coach myself to keep trying, which is no real detour from the road on which I'm already traveling.


And, on the days when it feels the least and most possible, to believe for the very best, despite the odds, despite what I've already been shocked or saddened to learn, in the face of the distractions or discouragements I might face [again]. Time to zip up and get moving. Next stop, someday soon, liberation. 

professional vs. pushing forward?

Sometimes it helps to know who you're actually mad at.


I get that we all occasionally, depending on the situation or day or time of, ahem, year, sort of feel entitled to a general sense of being short-handed, or put off, or pissed off. There are plenty of people in the world to feel disappointed by, multiple situations that all root with some person's poor decision (where can I get a t-shirt or a sandwich board that says "ME ME ME"?) and because of this we feel 100% alright with the fact that we own a little rage, a little anger, a little don't-mess-with-me-don't-ask-me step to our swag. 


To take one large leap backwards for just a moment, we tend to have a very skewed sense of the order of things, of what a good life permits us or, rather, bows down before and presents to us. We have in mind that certain things make for success, or happiness, and that anything different (note, not less) is disappointing or not as enjoyable or not up to our standards. While that can certainly hold some undeniable truth, there is also something to be said for wishing ourselves well on our current avenue, rather than damning it every step of the way. It is most likely not how we imagined our lives to carry on, because it never really is, and it is most likely going to bring us to yet another unexpected course of action, another undesignated landmark, hopefully something out of the usual job-promotion-married-kids-die syntax. And hopefully something that has the capability to surprise us, to make us think, to dazzle us, if we dare, or to make us realize that perhaps there's something more for us than our limited minds can allow.


So what then about the bad days? About the days where everything feels so outrageously biased, the times when we assume others are undeserving, that we are better at one thing or another, that this world reeks of privilege, that we've been waiting longer, that our payout should be bigger, better, grander, now.


I don't know. For example, I suppose: am I mad at Snooki for being a New York Times best-selling author? (That, my friends, is the truth.) Maybe. A little, I guess. More bewildered than anything else, really. But I get it. Half of the time, art has been overtaken by industry, by business. SO, if a book topically based on venereal disease and clubbing is going to sell, it's going to sell. (Okay, okay, I'm through.) Still, we'd be better off not blaming other people for what we're not doing, for the things we want that they have. It's not their fault, as much as it isn't ours. If we're putting forth an honest effort, and if it works out for someone else sooner, we're going to have to live with that, challenge in hand, and know that we can hold out just a little bit longer. Still, you have to have days where your patience let's go. It's being kind to your own sanity, if nothing else. At the same time, despite those moments, if everything becomes a derivative of what is and isn't fair, we're going to find ourselves sorely disappointed with, well, almost everything. Hopefully with those few-and-far between moments of outrage, of feeling personally slighted by society or the industry or (heeellllo) the economy, we have an equal if not greater moment of clarity that provides the reminder, hey, we're all more or less going through the same thing. We can't compare ourselves to overnight successes, we can't hate our brothers and sisters for what they've accomplished, and we certainly can't be mad at ourselves when we've been trying our best all along. 


With all of these things in mind, who is to say when we're going to make it big, or make it at all, when we're going to pull through a difficult time, or when we are going to stand up and notice that, despite what we would change, we have a pretty good life as it is; we have some irreplaceables, we have some new knowledge, some experience, some love that nothing in the world we make us retrace or give up. We can't see it all at once, and most days we can't see it at all from this valley where we stand, but it's there, it's our beacon in the darkness.  

Overall, I still can't make sense of what I'm supposed to be doing with the things I enjoy or the parts of me I would like to call my talents. I don't know if they're mine alone, if they belong in my life in a bigger way, or if the time it takes for that recognition will wear me down, if I'm built to weather bigger storms than this, if there is something better for me in a new place entirely (perhaps with a nod back to Where in the world?), if my bags packed to their fullest can fit everything I carry with me, inside and out. So this means ... what? If nothing else, I suppose, that we should, sincerely as we can, be proud of the people who are making the most of this pretty dire situation we find ourselves in. If we can, applaud them, congratulate them, and wish them the best. If we can manage it, we might as well wish ourselves good possibilities, too. We might do our best to keep at it, to keep applying, announcing our arrivals, creating, crafting and, ahem, writing. It's who we are, whether or not someone reads it, analyzes it, critiques it, displays it, or puts it on the printed page. We are who we are, and the world, in one way or another, and in one time or another, will follow. 

future-girl.

As far as revelations go, I'm often waiting on the edge of my latest, obvious or revisted. The ones that are utterly new are ones I'm usually the least prepared for, and what I've fully wrapped my head around lately has been altogether surprising, shake-my-head worthy, confusing, or, if you will, befuddling. 

I spend a lot of brain time sweating over the future. Which is ironic, seeing as I am not quite the plan-for-later type. Things happen, and I flow with them. Usually. Which is why this entire process requires a little bit of force against my will, a little bit of fighting my natural instincts, which has had its own rewards, even while twisting my arm ever so slightly, during which I can wince and keep trudging along. 

Strangely, though, is this: When I'm not worked up over tomorrow, it makes me nervous. I tend to wonder if it means one of several things, or worse, a little bit of all of them: 1. Am I losing focus? Or, 2. Am I becoming complacent? Or, 3. Will I just walk in the same circle forever? Orrr 4. WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING WITH MYSELF? 


And, 

Suddenly, panic mode is back. As soon as I let her through some open door, a window where she found a crack, one inch at a time, without a second to realize what's going on, I'm losing my breath trying to keep up, running behind her, fighting to get a grip on what she's doing and where she's going. But it's already too late. Panic always wins the race. 


It's almost humorous (later, or from the outside) how quickly an everyday existence can escalate into any number of fear-induced questions (or worse, statements) about what's going to happen to us: Where will we be a year from now, five years from now, ten, twenty, fifty? Things will never change. Are we stuck in the same place forever? How can we force the world to work with us? How can we move on in such an uncooperative, hostile economy? How are the environments in which we find ourselves helping or hurting who we are? Is there something I'm meant for? There's nothing I'm meant for. I will never figure out where I belong. There is too much wrapped up in what we do, in where we work. If life is meant to be celebrated and enjoyed, why would I waste so much of it in a place that makes me unhappy? Does responsibility trump true contentment? Why do I only seem to think I need what the world is telling me I need? I will never be financially stable. I will always be working for something I don't stand for. I will never, I can't, and I won't. 


If any of this sounds familiar, then you are in fact me, or wonderful you, facing a similar conundrum, all founded in a lot of negative thinking, fretting, and inevitable future stress wrinkles. 


As far as oxymorons go, this one is a doozy. On one hand, if we're not supposed to waste our lives away with worry, then let's not do it. Worry, that is. Let's be a little more carefree, a little less upset over all of it, and as much as we're able to allow, let it be. On the far other end of the spectrum, however, change requires action. A difference in surroundings, accomplishments, and attitude means we have to stand up and actually do something. If we settle in and let the world continue, have we done just that: settle? If we, instead, run around in states of frenzy trying to repair all that we deem broken, every part of us reaching in all directions simultaneously, are we really doing our best to enjoy what we have? Do we spend more time freaking out than anything else? Are we missing the point by exercising our commitment to change?   


I don't know. I really don't, and that's the truth. Perhaps if there were a way (and I assume there must be), to balance these two endeavors. Can we (wait for it) savor the blessings we already have (which are there, if you stop to consider, obvious or not), while attempting to get a foothold on our futures, all without giving up our sanity? 


It's a thought. A nice one, at that. I'm usually (too usually) a victim of paralyzing fear, of Panic, of being sucker-punched directly in the gut by the universe, by what tomorrow brings. Maybe it brings the same thing as yesterday, or as today. Or maybe it sets me up for something new, something I never saw coming. Maybe I will see what I've been hoping to see for all this time, coming up over the hill to meet me. Maybe I will be surprised. It's not in my sights yet, not even close. The best any of us can do, is stand ready, hand to our brow, waiting firm with our eyes on the horizon. We might wait for a long time. It might feel like forever, who knows. We might suspect that the world is merely fucking with us, that we're all the butt of some joke we are just beginning to understand, the unfunny sort of comedy, the paradoxical kinds that twists our stomachs and makes us scratch our heads.


Still, if we're supposed to live life, and not dread it, and we're supposed to make good, rather than assume there is none, then I think we've found the purpose to the point. There is an ideal setting for all of this, I feel. And I am hardly in it, as I feel most people are not. This boat we all seem to be in must be the size of a freight ocean liner, times ten billion. IN THE MEANTIME, however, as long as we keep our minds in tact, let's remember what we have, that not all people have all things at once (even the ones you think do, don't), and carry on. Let tomorrow be tomorrow; for now, we have today. 

having an ear for it.

Try as we might, we're not very good at listening.

       "...what?"

Exactly, in terms of what we feel on the speaking end of things, as well as the equal frustration we might find in wanting to pay attention, but lacking the will, or even sometimes the ability, to do so. 

Most of the time, when someone is talking to us, even about something explicitly important, something vital or moving or hilarious, more than listening to the details of this person's story, we are busy planning our response, a follow-up to their anecdote a "Yeah, but what about THIS..." counter.

Really, we do. Next time someone is talking to you, see if you do it. See if you can catch yourself wanting to talk back more than than you want to hear what they're saying. Watch and see if your eyes wander, your mind travels ahead of the moment you're in, see if you're distracted by something in front of you, behind their head, self-contained problems, anything at all.

It's fine. It doesn't make us bad people or anything. It just means we're interested in being heard, and that we find our experiences important or interesting. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, really. Things have happened to you, you've had revelations like no other, and that's the truth. But if that's your reality, your very present world, then just think what other people might have to offer in terms of experience or wisdom or recantation. Or, forget lessons learned: how about just something to make you laugh, something you never thought of before, someone's example that can make you bowl over, think deeper, or try harder? Hey, if I ever had the opportunity to believe anything was possible, now would be the exact moment of decision. 

As difficult as it can be to listen up, to cup our hands around our ears, try to breathe quieter and wait, it's become more apparent how this particular downfall can stem into a bigger problem, or personality trait, which are sometimes the same thing. Therefore, confession: I have lately (or perhaps always) found it almost unnatural to ask for help from others. Not because I assume no one else has anything to offer me in terms of assistance, not because I think there's weakness in needing guidance, and not even necessarily because I have a stubborn streak like that of a, well in all senses of the word, ass. I think (or hope) this behavior of mine comes more from a basic and natural need to figure it out myself. It's one of those blessing/curse conundrums that I've always taken to, one that would cause my mom to yell at me numerous times throughout my explorative childhood. Finding me in the midst of a physical disaster, an explosion in the microwave, or a dress with a re-sewn hem (by yours truly) that immediately merited the garment unwearable, I would hear those words, something like: "If you don't know how, JUST ASK."

Sheesh.


Even though that tended to engrain even further that I WOULD do it all on my own (trust me, I still tried), Susan's advice, however frustratingly given, isn't so far from the truth. Why not just ask? If we're not sure of our next step, why not admit that to someone who might know better, someone who's worn our very tired shoes, someone who knows these miles that are stretching out before us. 


I think sometimes we're afraid of hearing what we've already heard before, or worse, what we've already tried before. Almost anyone can give you basic advice, and really, what's so bad about that? I know it gets repetitive, or frustrating, it's hard to nod along or seem enthusiastic about what you feel you already know. 


But, what don't you know? What is hidden in their experience that is new to you, what can you take away from a conversation or a reconnection that brings you hope, new methods, new avenues of risk-taking or, in some cases, attack? I was recently told by someone much younger than me, though the gap in age and life experience certainly doesn't prove him wrong: "The world isn't going to just hand you what you want. You have to go out and take it." This teeny and heartfelt piece of wisdom doesn't lie; if you want the truth, demand it and accept nothing less. If you want to know how, look into it, read up, ask around. 


You'd be surprised to know how many people are going through your situation, similarly, identically, struggling in the exact ways you are, searching for comparable answers, struggling through the same dilemmas. Don't let that be your discouragement, don't make it a way to be aware of your competition or your enemies. Rather, these people are your allies. They want good for you as much as you want it for yourself and as much as they want it for themselves. It's funny how knowledge of a person's troubles makes them more human to us, more bearable, it brings us to a purer sense of compassion. Hopefully if we can stand the idea of asking for advice (trust me, it gets easier and more humbling every time), perhaps we will likewise develop a better listening ear, for whatever circumstance that may bring. I'd like to silence my mind, every once in awhile, I'd like to test my limits a little and stop multi-tasking all the time. Imagine that, if you can. Sheer crazy-talk at this point, but something worth considering. 


It's important to face that we need each other. And that certain people know things that we don't. I know, it's positively unbelievable. But if we can wrap our minds around that fact, we can surely find a way to comprehend and make use of the ideas and encouragement we're given. That way, in, on a twisted fated someday, we might be the ones who have the advice to give, the shared experiences to delve into, the stories to spread. You never can tell. 




Sidenote: A recent submission to Warby Parker for the job opening of "copywriter extraordinaire" has put me into a current good-vibe-mode about the potential to work for and represent a company and a cause I can truly support. Updates sure to follow. 

speak your brain.

I'm always more interested in the job applications that have weird or unusual questions. 


I recently submitted an application that asked me to write a six-word memoir (you've heard of those, right?). I can't remember what that particular day brought forth, but today's might go something like: Sleep escapes me, every goddamn time. (The writing life is known for it's insomnia-inducing tactics, among other things.)


I've come across a few applications that want to know what I'm reading (appropriate, considering the context of the work I'm interested in), some that want to know my blog link (a very AHA-moment for me, if you will), some that want to know what magazines to which I subscribe, which blogs I visit the most, some that want a sample of my work and some that only want to know about the last three jobs I've had, if my references are reliable, and if they may contact my previous and/or current employers. 


This week, I was taking the time to submit my resume to a company I admire. I was feeling undeniably positive about the entire process, as well as the faintest tinge of excitement that could-this-be-the-avenue-I-actually-take, could this be the job that works out, somehow, maybe. It's been awhile since I took such an upbeat turn about this job search of mine. And when I say awhile, I mean, the variance in my day-to-day attitude about it, though slightly alarming, is probably natural. It's a task that will wear you thin, unfortunately, but one that only quits if you do. As for me, I'd rather keep moving forward, however slowly, however singularly. 


When I came to the end of my submission, just rereading my answers and checking for errors, I realized that I had yet to answer the final question before me: 

In 150 characters or less, tell us what makes you unique.

Even though I am in fact me, despite the truth that I understand who I am and am best aware of my strengths and faults and quirks, I have never been exceptionally adept at answering a question quite like this. What makes me unique? What makes me different from you or someone else? Lots of things, I suppose. Does it have to pertain to the job at hand? Does it have to be something I've experienced, something about my personality, a phobia, a recantation of the dream I had last night? (Trust me, nobody wants to hear that stuff. I find that my sleeping state, however sporadic, has a far more terrifying imagination than the truth of my waking life.)

The fact is, we can be a little blind to our own weirdness, simply by being ourselves. If we are a certain way and we always have been, or if we do a handful of odd things that we've always done, then we are simply in our own form of normal, however crazy it may seem to everyone else. I think places that ask this sort of question aren't really prepared for you to admit to your total lunacy (no? just me?), but rather are looking for a person who stands apart, who has more to offer than a professional letter of recommendation, someone whose personality is apparent and intriguing. Not too crazy, but just crazy enough. Memorable to the point that after scanning your letter and finding you interesting (you hope), you will be the person they return to, after all the others, because you said something that wedged in their mind, something beyond the ordinary.


So? What could I do but say, "I can draw my own brain and talk in a rat voice, and it only gets weirder from there." 


While a rat voice is a topic for another day entirely (and a good one, at that), and while drawing your own brain could, for some folks, immediately bring them to either very gruesome or anatomical depictions (trust me, most days, my mind is neither), it is something that lately stands me apart. It is something that, should the process go further into, say, an interview-type setting, would require some explanation, some details, some delving into how I have other avenues of releasing my creative urges, of practicing craft, of the ways I spend my valued time, of the way art plays into my being as an essential, like breathing, like water, like sleep. Though in terms of the last example, only sometimes. 


I think the bigger part of me hopes to send my written portfolio, my resume, my plea, across the desk of a person with an approach like mine, with an openness, with a sense of humor. I imagine that the place that accepts me will do solid, honest work, and will expect that out of those that they employ, as well as appreciating the differences we all contain, however strange, however unbelievable. There is a place for this, I believe, a place that I have to hope has a Helen-sized space, a gap for a girl who owns Sharpies in every possible color, one who can't stop thinking for even a second, one who has the urge to write everything down, and for those times when the words deflate: a mind's picture is all that seems to do. 

Where in the world?

"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't home anymore? All of the sudden, even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone." 

Zach Braff as Andrew Largeman in Garden State

In terms of making the big choices, it's often hard to imagine yourself outside of the area you're already in. While this is true in several respects, I am specifically referring to the area of place, of physical location. The world's size tends to wax and wane in my mind's capacity to fathom it, and while the options seem overwhelming at times, sometimes it makes just as much sense to stay put as it does to get gone.


In general, I have pretty much lived in the same place my entire life. I took a brief four-year hiatus in college, a venture that brought me to an even smaller town just outside of Pittsburgh. An even shorter gap of time (though a much longer journey) brought me to the jaws of Los Angeles, a city that dazzled but did not fool me. I have spent little chunks of life in other countries, Greece, England, Nicaragua, Ireland, a tour of the Caribbean islands via cruise ship. All of these escapades that one way or another returned me to Columbus, New Jersey, whether by the trip's end, lack of funds to support otherwise, or a general craving for familiarity. 


Still, there's the ever-present possibility of growing bored with a certain place, of exhausting your options there and deciding it's time to move forward or out or onto something new. (Again, speaking specifically to the sense of where to be, though the broader understandings certainly apply.) For example, three and a half years in the run-down suburb of Beaver Falls in the western Pennsylvania wilderness (save for that 30-mile trek into the city for whoever could muster up the energy to brave the October to April winter) was enough for me. While I eventually and quite possibly too late discovered the advantages and charms of the tiny bridge-bound city, and while the town I was originally from did not exactly scream URBAN, it was time to go. Several friends graduated and decided to move into the area and find out what the place had left for them. Even before I turned my tassel, I was imagining something new.


That's just an illustration of the ways we can soak up what we need from where we are and then continue on our way. I went, I learned, I re-learned, I received my degree, and departed. Yes, you might be wondering if it's wandering backwards to end up where I started. Maybe, maybe not. In some ways yes, in some ways no. At the time, I felt I didn't have a real choice, jobless and in all senses of the word, broke. The point is, what now? While I've traveled a decent amount for someone my age, though not as much as I imagined I would have by now, passport stamped to completion, there is still a greater part of the world that I know nothing about. How then do we choose where we want to cultivate roots? Even just the WORD roots is terrifying, mainly because I tend to think that by nature, we are not the type to stay settled permanently. Not in the strain that we lack the ability to commit or stay focused, but in the sense that there is too much out there for us to be content with only one fraction of all that is possible. This mindset, I am finding out, positively riddles us with curiosity, and yet negatively fights our ability to be satisfied with limited exploration. 


If I were to make a choice on the basics, I suppose I would start with "Where will I find work?" These days, the answer to that question is, initially, nowhere, and then additionally, wherever you CHOOSE to find it. People are creating their own avenues of income in times that are trying, some of which succeed, and others that find themselves starting from scratch on repeat. However, more specifically, if you are engaged in a certain type of work, such as writing, you will probably not venture into a rural town in Nebraska. Right? (Don't expect an answer from me, actually, because I am more or less asking these questions for the sake of my own indecision.) 


How can you want to be somewhere you've never been before? And, how can you want to stay somewhere you could follow with your eyes closed? Do we base our decision on the major cities of the country, Chicago (brr), New York (?!), Los Angeles (yikes), Houston (yee-haw?), etc? OR, what of the cities of the WORLD, if we're willing to open our minds just that much? 


With the work world being what it is, as well as just the general state of the planet, the taxes, the expenses of merely being alive, these days I'm more apt to make a location decision based on the weather. That being said, you're likely to any day find me baking pineapple upside-down cakes somewhere along the equator. The fact is, we don't know about a place until we've really been there, until we've given it a chance to prove it's homeyness, however temporary that may turn out to be. Still, certain environments scare me. I'm not a city girl as much as I don't belong in the center of a corn field, calling the cows to come home. Despite where this might land me, I'm also not a happy medium. I have an adventurer's heart latched inside a body full of limitations. I am a free spirit that lives in a world that runs on capital and regulations, one that measures success in inches and dollar signs. I'd rather be happy than rich, I'd rather see trees than tall buildings. I'd rather walk than use public transportation. I'd rather be somewhere that makes it possible for me to donate all of my cold weather coats. 


Obviously, in the end, unless I decide to inhabit another world altogether, there are some compromises to consider. And actually, after all this, I still have no idea where we go from here. For the most part I suppose that when we know, we know. I don't really expect us all to wake up someday and suddenly know our place and our calling and our purpose. I just like to think that wherever it is, one day as we're wandering those streets or resting quietly in our rooms or ourselves that we'll just realize: here. And I would like to believe that that sensation will be based on more than what we do there, where we actually are, and who we know in town. Rather, it will be a reflection of that rediscovered comfort, of knowing that we have a place to go, to return to, after everything else. 

Hide-The-Croissant.

For the most part, it can be pretty simple to tell what is right and wrong. This can vary, only slightly, from person to person, and can differ even more so in terms of asking/determining what is appropriate or suitable for your lifestyle, your personality, your interests.


One obvious selling point I often find myself wondering about is this: What kind of person is this making me become? For example, the company I surround myself with: are they bringing me up as a person, am I growing? Or are they tearing me down or apart? Is my environment hazardous? (Strictly in both the philosophical and psychological senses. Debating the status of the ozone layer is for another time.) Am I growing worse at things, or better? Am I learning valuable lessons, or am I becoming bitter, stagnant, even more unrefined?


It's a hard question to ask, and an even harder one to attempt to answer. Most of the time, what is unhealthy for us is what can be the most difficult thing to give up. I'm not a smoker, but I hear it's one of the toughest habits to kick. We can know all the facts, we can look in the mirror and see our skin graying, our teeth yellowing, hear that hacking cough deepening, only imagine the black soot that must be suffocating our lungs, and it's all we can do to look the other way and light up. We'd rather ignore what we know than slap on a patch, chew some gum, and move on. We'd rather stay the same than face the difficulty that comes with change. (Obviously I'm not making light of the challenge that lies within quitting a pack-a-day pastime. Rather, I'm using it as a pretty clear illustration of knowing the destructiveness of something without being able to give it up.)


So what about the circumstances that we want to walk away from, but can't? Or, at least, the ones we can't quite see our way out of just yet. There is always an exit, but it can be shrouded by something bigger, clouded by our fear, hidden behind our lack of ability to want better for ourselves. For example, letting go of a friendship or even a more intimate relationship is one of the toughest things we will ever do in life. Owning up to the fact that it's time to cut ties with another person, that done things can never be undone, said things never unsaid, takes on a similar process as it does to grieve for a lost loved one. We are basically saying goodbye to something that has permanently changed, but is still something that remains familiar to us, however discouraging the transformed reality. Breaking off or suddenly changing direction is a painful process. It requires us to face the facts head-on, to acknowledge that it is more important to take care, rather than to simply let everything else form our outcomes by default.


Lately, I've been applying these questions to my current job situation. Of course I see and have seen that a new avenue is more than necessary, and I've been attempting to find an appropriate (and, let's not kid ourselves, zippy) way to retire my black + green uniform. Though my character is not beyond hope yet, because it never is, and because I have been graced with time to think myself over now and then, I have been wondering: What kind of person is this making me become? Sometimes, I'm not sure. I am certainly not the sweetest human being while on the job. I'm often frustrated before I even walk in the door, all varieties of stressed, and basically mean. What can I say? It's tough to stay positive and kind in the midst of an everlong trial. The end isn't in sight yet, and though I know it will be someday, waiting for the crest of the hill is a painstaking process, one I am sometimes good at and sometimes not. For example: one recent morning as I was rearranging the breakfast pastries, rock-hard nuggets that they are, I noticed a frequently unpleasant customer crossing the sidewalk with determination, headed right for the front door. In my hand I was holding a plate that cupped the last croissant, a crucial part of her everyday order. One that she always demanded, barked. Ready to be placed on a display, I had two choices: 1. Into the case, where she would obviously see it, happy, or. 2. Sneakily position it onto the shelf behind the counter while I stood by and waited for her to leave.


You had better believe I hid it.


Obviously, this entire ordeal has been an undertaking like no other. No, my character isn't perfect (though it is presently snarky), and while I don't want to be a hide-the-croissant kind of girl (most days, anyway), it was certainly a reminder that I have always have a choice about who I will become. Without a doubt, some days are harder than others. But action only feels impossible until the the process begins. Once started, it not only feels natural, but invigorating, and imperviously right. I'm not sorry so much as I am enlightened. With that, I have to wonder: wherever she is, sipping her vanilla chai with no water, snapping into her bluetooth, if she could ever know the ways she caused my mind to move?

Meeting in the middle, etc.

I have heard some wise words lately. Among these big truths, one that stands out is this: "When you make steps towards the universe, the universe takes steps back towards you." These days, I have felt the approaching footsteps of a someone, of a bigger place, one inch at a time. 

I am not really the type to believe in fate (usually) or even coincidence (most of the time). In fact, I have never been sure of much of anything in life, save for two specific scenarios. (Colin + California are the examples that come to mind. True love and the right place will never let you down.) Still, there is a presence that has lately made me stand up and take notice, that has caused me to look around and realize that by walking into the unknown or practicing (often badly) a sense of patience, things begin to appear a little different, to take on an unfamiliar form. Despite my normal hesitations, this is not by accident. If nothing is new under the sun, sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to attempt to reopen our eyes. While it might take moved mountains to change the world, it doesn't take much to change the way we see it. 

In the same strain, sometimes the way to move forward is to stand still, to turn back, to face a new direction, to look to someone else. I find this to be especially true from the mindset of a writer. If I am feeling unsure of what a character will do next, what a place looks like in the evening light, or even the very first word on the very first page, sometimes the very best thing I can do is walk away, interact with the real world, and find a way to unintentionally seek inspiration. That page of white open space is a friend or foe, depending on the angle you choose to stand by. 

Mostly, perspective is optional. And if we chose to stay the same, then we've cornered ourselves. And this isn't just an extended mantra of positive thinking, because I know, I know, it seems daunting and immediately tiresome to try to imagine yourself as one of those glass-half-full types. Trust me, I was surely not innately gifted with the ability for that avenue of thinking or way of life. It's a learned process, to be sure. Though we all tend to do it imperfectly, on the days where I can say I've done it to the best of my ability, I can attest that there is a blessing contained that is much more than I ever could have imagined. On those more common days, however, where I just can't seem to pull it off, I feel that slight shift in the air, in the universe perhaps, where I can just barely see her, taking one mighty step back, hands on her worldly hips, shaking her head at me in disappointment. 

We are who we think we are and we can do what we think we can do. If we stop ourselves before we have bothered, then we will never know what opportunities didn't get a chance to present themselves. If we believe something firmly, it has a better chance of growing into a reality, rather than to just waste away dismissing ourselves and thinking we are exactly nobody with exactly nothing of value. If the best you can do is stand in the proverbial doorway of possibility, sit on the porch of that ever-weary house and watch for passerbys, it's a step in the right direction. If you can only pretend to picture the call you will receive out of the blue, or the email, perhaps, from the last place you came to expect, be open. For every limitation we create for ourselves, there is an alternative route, a visit from the past, the kindness of a stranger (too true, all), a new and undiscovered option, a revisited sense of interest. After all, we never know who is listening or watching (though we often seem all too sure of who ISN'T). So stand ready, and strong. Be prepared to wait as much as you are prepared to move. 

Note: For all the technological advancements available to us, when the glitch in the system decides to disintegrate the entry you were working on for two days, and feeling extremely pleased with by the way, after a minute or two of sobbing and/or saying "NO" to no one in particular, the upside here is a chance to A. Test your memory. Mine appears to be average. B. Rethink and re-meditate on your thoughts and C. Rewrite. How's THAT for a twist. 

A Thought Towards "Doing"

Oh, so strange how our own brains can be our biggest enemies.


Our own thoughts work against us so mysteriously and yet so obviously. You'd think it would seem clear when we're being self-deprecating, self-discouraging, despondent, hand-feeding our insecurities, telling ourselves what we can't do before we've even tried to do it. 


I, however, am about to call us all out on something. I'll tell you why we do this, why we don't call our old professors and ask them for advice, why we don't apply for jobs that seem above us, why we don't ask questions because we're afraid of looking unintelligent or silly: because it's easier to sit around in self-loathing and refuse to face a challenge. If we can assume at first step that we are walking directly through the door marked "failure," we are probably going to sit down or, more realistically, lay down, eat something sugary, and wallow in the unbearability of it all.


Even though this tends to be easier in the sense that it requires a lot less effort, less determination, probably less hygiene and more reruns, it certainly feels a lot shittier than going out, attempting, and getting turned down. Getting rejected only means that there is something else for you, something more suitable, more enjoyable even, more fulfilling. Frankly, it doesn't hurt to believe this, or better, in terms of needing a sense of motivation.


So what to do? How do we stand up to ourselves, to our negative energies and fears, and just do something about it? ...Well? Assuming that we start by doing something, why not ironically opt for the one avenue that always made you laugh, not hysterically but knowingly, at the absurdity of its lack of possible turn-out. For me, that happens to be writing directly to the editors of several (hundred) magazines for which I would be honored to be a contributing writer. 


A letter to the editor. I know. Not to the office manager, someone's assistant, not the editor of a specific section. The editor-in-chief. The top of the board. Essentially, because WHY NOT, and even though my obnoxious mind tends to imagine an endless stack of mail that he/she would never even discover, due to its sheer volume or because the interns are assigned to shred it and use it for office party confetti, I am doing it anyway. I am writing 60+ cover letters, all individualized for editors who I have researched, read about, and learned their job history. Not because I think (though I can hope) they will all call me begging me to start tomorrow, that I can name my own pay and have my own office (THIS IS WHAT DREAMS ARE FOR. MAKE THEM WHAT YOU WANT.), but because I can try it, and see what happens. There is something simply empowering about doing something that intimidates you or seems like a stretch so far you can't see the opposite end of it. Do it anyway. Do it intentionally. Do it and fight your inner critic, the little man in red on your shoulder you finds you pathetic or ordinary or unworthy. Toss your own pitchfork aside and start doing. There is no one there to stop you, no wall or excuse that isn't self-created.  


Updates on sent letters, received responses, and empty space to come. 

Too late for what?

The go-getters in the world will you tell you things like, if you can dream it, you can make it happen. If you can connect your desires with your doings, you'll see results? Make your visions your realities. 


I'm improvising a little, of course, but you get the general idea.


The problem with those boulder-sized wisdoms is that a lot of times these go-getters were merely the next in line for something, part of a family name, were sorta kinda tossed a damn good hand, and can therefore attribute their success to hard work that they never had to do.


I'm really good at generalizing when it comes to things that make my stomach turn, but bear with me for just a moment. Sure, some people are lucky or blessed or destined to always be in the right place at the inexplicably right time. Oh well, right? Good for them, we should all suppose, and in the same beat not forget the ways in which we have been just as fortunate. 


STILL, if you're at all human like me, you can acknowledge that there is a sheer level of difficulty in being happy for other people. Genuinely so, anyway. If you're really going after something, and someone else gets there first, it's all we can do to not mentally trip them on their way to the finish line. I'm just saying. Whatever your downfalls are or aren't, whether you are appalled by my honesty or relieved by it, I think you may know what I mean, whether you would publicly admit it or not. 


BUT, for every daddy's girl that snakes your internship, for every promotion that is given to the wrong person (you decide), for every celebrity that sails into an ivy league school, there are some true success stories that often surprise us, nab our attention, and give us hope. 


Example? I've got one, of course, otherwise this entire lead-in would turn out to be awfully aimless, which is surely the opposite of what encouragement aims to achieve. 


My father is in his sixties, has not had any schooling past the age of an elementary student, and English is his second language. For the last twenty-five years, he has attempted to run his own business, through which he met many obstacles, both financially and physically. Though he is hard-working and I love him dearly, though most people that meet him find him charming and hilarious, he was never quite the business mogul. He tried. He really did, and for that I have to commend him. 


Recently, an unfortunate week on the road brought him one over-turned vehicle, a head injury and persistent pain. After several weeks of talking to doctors, lawyers, insurance companies, and time spent reassuring his current clients, he realized it might be time to consider other avenues of income. A lot had gone wrong during the length of this business: failed partnerships, long hours, and lots of lost money.


So, he made a few calls. So, he had a job interview. So, he got the job.


What? Just like that? Maybe, I guess. It took a lot leading up to that point, if I were to delve into the long version. The point is, the odds are clearly not on his side. Having a variety of odd job experience, working in restaurants and kitchens, some time in the military. He's never used a computer. His recent purchase of a smart phone has left him asking me some hysterical and altogether endearing questions. The email, he finds, is particularly baffling. 


What I'm trying to say is, there is hope in what lies against us. If you asked anyone, I don't think they would pinpoint my dad as the most likely to get hired. Honestly, neither did I. What I was basing that on was his ability to write a resume, and for that matter, what he would be able to put on it as work experience. It feels appropriate, and oddly reassuring, to be humbled by the unexpected. It feels good to know that we don't have to shrug off the impossible or even assume there IS an impossible. There's something to be said for thinking you can and then making it happen. Why not? By now, it's the very best thing we can believe. 

My dad, at 21, working in a diner kitchen.