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.