100 words a day

Tomorrow is the last day of February. Sigh, such a short and sweet month. I will be sad to see it go.  I have basically taken this entire month off.  It has been utterly delightful.  If I am still working seven years from now, I hope to take another month off.

About a year ago I realized that if I wanted to stop being defined by my job that I had to stop defining myself that way.   I think I have done a decent job of disassociating from work.  Of course, the sorry state of my job made it easier.

For years Jasper Johns painted the same image: a target.  Today I stood before no less than one zillion paintings of this image, baffled and slightly irritated.  Hours later, I think I am starting to understand.

His later work evolved light-years past the target, but included remnants of the process created in the making those targets.

Maybe he hated the target.  Maybe he decided to keep painting them over and over again until something actually inspired him, all the while improving and experimenting with his processes.

Maybe he decided that painting something uninspired is better than not painting at all.

When I was in high school a good friend of mine got Hodgkin’s disease.  That story ends well. He is alive and well. He’s been cancer-free for years, and engaged to (I hope) a lovely woman in L.A.  I am getting away from my point, which is, I was in high school and knew someone with cancer. He was too young to get it and I was too young know someone with it.

I guess we’re never too young for tragedy.  Bad things happen regardless of the number of candles on our cake.  At some point I will accept that.

Any therapist would have a field day with my relationship with time. I am obnoxiously punctual. My watch is set five minutes fast.  My bedside alarm clock? An inexplicable forty-two minutes fast.

I’ve learned this past week about the merits of being present. I imagine it’s hard to live in the present in a home where no two clocks say the same time. And no clock is right.

I came home and reset my alarm clock. For the first time in years I can tell the time in my bedroom without subtraction.

I haven’t changed my watch yet.  Baby steps.

I spent years learning how to draw. I have sketch books of still lifes, nude models, and landscapes. At my best, my drawing skills could be described as pretty good. I was never great.

I walked around the Met today and was struck by the lack of drawing hanging all the walls. These painters, these landmark historical painters, painted but they didn’t necessarily draw. The advent of abstract art has, in a way, made the art of drawing defunct. Drawing has become a niche skill, like fixing record players. I wonder if they will even teach it to our children.

So you sequester yourself for a week. You surround yourself with inspiration to change and vow to lead a much different life. You leave, floating on fluffy white clouds of hope and renewal. Then you come home.

And maybe it’s best that you went to your family first, because they might just be your biggest hurdle. They know how to press all of your buttons and do so, almost unknowingly.

So you try out your new vocabulary. You try to understand and articulate how you feel without blame or judgment. You hope that one day you can get it right.

There once was a princess who loved her rosebush. She watered it every dawn and sung lullabies to it every dusk and wouldn’t let anyone else near it.

One day she decided to build a small castle to protect her rosebush, just big enough for her and her rosebush. Stone by stone she built the fortress by herself. When she was done she was so exhausted that she slept for an entire year.

When the princess finally woke up she was covered by a blanket of rose petals. Without the sun and the rain, the rosebush cried and then died.

When I have the patience to pull the yarn to unravel the ball to see where it all began, I always return to the figs. The figs are what I purchased on that almost unmemorable autumn day. I bought them at the Oak Street Market, a small, quaint heath food store that would soon be my employer. I remember finding joy in those figs and absurdity in that joy. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to enlightenment.

Everything else that happened after: the vegetarianism, the art, the yoga, this life- it all sprung from that almost unmemorable day in autumn.

I’ve understood for a long time that we are what we eat. I’ve believed in the importance of what I put in my body. But I only concerned myself with what I ingested orally. I never considered the other senses.

I didn’t think about what I smelled and what I listened to. I learned today that the brain cannot distinguish between seeing a war on television and actually experiencing it. Fascinating.

And I learned today about the basic necessity of touch. It’s a real need. I’ve lived the last few years convinced I didn’t need it. Apparently I’ve been mistaken

I didn’t come here for the yoga. Or the celebrity spiritualist (if I can coin that term). Okay, maybe the CS was a bit of a draw He adds a dollop of legitimacy.

Mostly I came here seeking quiet, an actual retreat before I will submerge into the real working world again. I have had a marching band playing non-stop between my ears for years. I don’t hate it. It’s what makes me me. But sometimes I’d like the musicians to take a break. I want the drum major to catch her breath. And I want the music to pause.

I know I will always be his little sister. When he is 100 years old and I am a mere 97, he will still be surprised that I can figure things out on my own. Even though some of his friends will be 95, he’ll see me as the youngest of all.

I’ll always be the little sprite chasing after him, wanting to do whatever he was doing.

My mimicry ended when I got older. Since then I’ve gone out of my way to chart my own course. It’s been years and now we’re not even in the same atlas.

At some point at social gatherings I shut off. It never fails. I cease talking. I don’t focus on any one conversation and I retreat inside.

The worst part is that I don’t even try. I don’t fill in spaces. I don’t start new conversations. I sit. I nod occasionally.

I know that it’s rude but I seem to have a very difficult time focusing when there are overlapping conversations. Invariably my brain strains to hear the conversation across the room, making it very awkward for the person talking to me.

Maybe I need to stay away from dinner parties.

I remember how skeptical I was of writing on the computer. It seemed too temporary. Entire painstaking paragraphs disappear with a click, leaving no remnants behind.

On paper original thoughts are indelible. Through cross-outs and scratches you can track the progression of ideas and language.

On paper you see the progress. On the computer you only see the product.

Now I find writing with a pen irritatingly slow. It’s not easy to change the sequences of sentences or paragraphs. I use an arrow and number system that I can’t decipher five minutes later.

But mostly, I miss auto word count.

Hello all,

Tomorrow would have been my six month anniversary with the firm.  Well, seven years and six months. But alas, today is my last day at IBM. I wanted to thank all of you for your guidance, support, and help over these years.  I was only 22 when I started and the countless lessons I’ve learned here have been invaluable.  I’ve been here longer I expected and I’ve met people greater than I had ever hoped.

I sincerely wish you all the best and good luck in everything.

Don’t be afraid to jump, you might just soar.

Thanks,
Stacy

People have mocked my blind faith in the all-mighty civic. There’s never been anything I’ve asked of her that she couldn’t do¹.   Today was a sad day. The mess-mobile saw ice and surrendered.

I tried to leave my home twice today.  Both times she didn’t budge.  She tried. She made a lot of noise. The tires whinnied. But she couldn’t find an ounce of traction.   Finally the awful smell of burnt rubber convinced me to go back inside.

¹ I am, of course, overlooking the fickle functioning of the driver’s side window, which often can’t be bothered to go down.

Jumping out of a plane has never felt so good. I’m fairly confident of my pack, but right now I’m just free falling.

I gave notice today to nobody’s surprise. I’ve pictured my quitting scene for years. It usually involved a thunderous door slam and a show-stopping speech.  However, my life tends to be less dramatic than my dreams.

I didn’t muster any bitterness. Could it be gone? Could it be that the light at the end of the tunnel actually outshines anger? The call was quick and painless. And I knew she could hear me smiling over the phone.

I’m keeping a secret.  It’s a juggernaut- to me at least. I’m out of character at work and I can’t tell them why. Not today. Hopefully tomorrow. I know they’ve noticed. They’re cold and formal. They;re making it easier.

Although I’ve heard promises, I haven’t read them yet. Once I read them, it will be real and this slow, uneventful amusement park ride will finally come to a halt. There’s something indelible about the written word that has the power to convince and reassure.

Is my silence merely a manifestation of my superstition? Or is it a lack of trust?

I’ve heard I’ve been hiding.  That’s not exactly true.  But it’s not exactly false either.  The truth is I haven’t been looking.  I didn’t want to meet someone when I was stuck.  I didn’t want a courtship of conversations full of my complaints.  I want to breathe light and I need someone who exudes it.  Light bearers are not commonly drawn to the dark.

And so I am finishing a chapter years later than I expected.  I know there is a reason for its length. I don’t completely understand it yet.  Hopefully, one day it will be illuminated for me.

When are you allowed to simply not work? When you’re in between jobs! I’m not sure how much time I will ultimately have, but I want to take complete advantage of every precious, non-working minute I get. I’m considering all of my options. I’ve thought about driving cross country or heading over to Europe. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a solo traveler and not many people I know have time to play.

I’m hoping to go somewhere more exotic than New York, though at the very least that’s where I’ll end up.

I’m open to suggestions. Where should I go?

Did you hear it?  It was barely audible.

It was the exhalation of a person who, just this evening, verbally accepted another job.
Of a person who has been waiting for a very long time.
Of a person who doesn’t know if the five extra thousand dollars she got for waiting was worth it.
Of a person who is looking forward to rejoining the regular work community.
Of a person who is excited to be a part of a team again, instead of leading it.
Of a person who loves her home but is sick of working in her sweats.

I am a big fat phony liar.  The situation I was un-artfully attempting to avoid has come to pass.   I am looking for other projects within my company without any intent on staying.  I am selling people on my talent and commitment while I am perched in the starting block, prepared to sprint at the gunshot.

Apparently this is how it’s done.  I guess it’s not abnormal to keep your regular work life going while conducting an external job search.  I can’t seem to separate the two.  I don’t care if everyone does it; I don’t like compromising my integrity.

No one is from here.  We’re a city of transplants. I know exactly why I’m here.  I can breathe here.  If I wasn’t here, I’d be somewhere else.  I’m not sure where, but I know it’s not there.

When I first moved here I told her it was temporary, two to three years, tops.  Then I told her that I’d move back when I became an aunt.  My niece will be two in June and my residence hasn’t changed.  She’s angry at all of my unfulfilled promises.  Funny, she of all people should understand that some promises can’t be kept.

I want to be spontaneous, fiery, hot-headed, intemperate. But everyone around me is pulling back the reigns. They are using words like “logical,” and “long-term” to hold me back.

Tonight I spoke to my most consistent sounding board and she basically told me to cool it.  She felt that this job opportunity may or may not materialize but that I shouldn’t be the one to end it. Apparently there isn’t anything to gain anything from bowing out (except my dignity!).

I usually look within to figure out who I am; maybe I should have been looking around me as well.

My turn this time in the waiting room is different because I have a deadline: Thursday.   It’s fairly arbitrary, but this waiting has become undignified and my dignity is not something I relinquish easily.

If I hear before Friday and they have nothing better to offer, I will think about it.   I will consider my current tenuous situation knowing that something is better than nothing, which is what I have now.

If Thursday comes and goes without any word, I will call them and back out.  I’ve never worn the cloak of passive participant well - it accentuates my thighs.

Three lifetimes ago I was a cheerleader.  I clapped. I stomped. I jumped. I shouted.   All for other people.   Eventually I realized that I preferred to play - the sidelines were not for me.   As heir apparent to the captainship, I did the unthinkable: I left the squad.   Now my cheerleading days reside in the deepest recesses of my memory, brought out and dusted off only on special occasions for a punch line.

This job would be dealing with data.  It’s back office work. And I wonder: am I doing it again?  Am I relegating myself to the supporting role?

The worst thing that could happen is that he wouldn’t look back at me.  That’s it.  That is what I’ve been so afraid of.  In this nasty, short, brutish life of ours, not being noticed isn’t so bad on the worst-case scenario scale.

Today I had a moment.  I’m sure it didn’t register on his Richter scale but it shook mine.  I realize that it was more symbolic than meaningful, but it was just the crumb I needed to quell my starvation.

I must learn to not avert my gaze, to make eye contact, to be open.  Today I began.

I did it again. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was back in the habit.

The day started out as any. I overslept, got stuck in traffic, had a latte with a prospective employer.

Almost immediately I felt the effects of the caffeine in my bloodstream. I became ebullient and hyper. My skin could barely contain my excitement over absolutely nothing. I felt great. I was invincible.

What do you do when you feel absolutely invincible? You take your mortal vehicle out for a spin. Today, against my better judgment I resumed running.

I went. I performed. I smiled.   I managed to hide all the bitterness I’ve developed during this process.   I was the perfect dancing bear, balanced on the rolling rubber ball.   And now the waiting begins.   Or, more accurately, the waiting continues.

I used to think that the waiting would kill me.   It didn’t.
I used to think that the uncertainty would drive me insane.  It hasn’t.

It’s amazing what you’ll do when you have no choice.

I know there is a lesson to be learned hidden in this dense fog of uncertainty.  I just hope that I can find it.