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.