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?