November 1, 2008
Building a Fairy Tale
If I were to write down a list of my strengths, stepping out on my own would not make an appearance. One fact I think few people realize is that very few things I have taken on in my life were because I actively sought them out. The organizations I joined, the positions I held and the jobs I was hired into were all at the request of somebody else. I have little to no personal initiative.This condition has been a severe limiting factor in my post-college life. I can already see where it is going to damage my "career", and it has been a bit of a sore spot in practicing my faith. My first religious life had an obvious service component to it. Some of the parishioners at ICC used to say my family could have run that church because we were all doing our part somewhere. That element has been very absent as I have waded these newer waters. I'm not the sort of person that answers ads in the paper. I cannot overcome my own deficiencies enough to do it.
But I have never been able to deny help when asked directly. The email I received two weeks ago seemed to test the theory that my lack of action does not equate to lack of willingness. The home group wanted help with their car for Trunk or Treat. Presented with the opportunity and a clear calendar, I immediately volunteered.
I have to admit I was a bit nervous doing it. I barely knew this group of girls; I didn't have much time to try before my classes separated me from their Thursday meetings. I also really know me.
They decided we would turn the car into Cinderella's carriage. Somebody had kindly donated a bunch of pink and white fabric. We would also have a "Daughters of the King" flag and make t-shirts that said "God's Princess" to wear with our tiaras as we gave out candy.
My only thought: "This has to be a joke, right?" I guess it's true what they say about stepping out. Don't be surprised to find yourself tested.
I sucked it up and moved on, but it really was one challenge after another. My float building experience had taught me a few things. I believed I knew how to make the idea work, but so did others. I tried to be patient as I asked for answers to the shortcomings in their designs and accepted that my job was to make it work however they wanted. "They only care about making it pretty," one of the group leaders told me later. "I want you to engineer it."
The next night half a dozen of us wandered around the hardware store. At every turn somebody had a new idea that deviated from the one we had gone to buy supplies for. The owner of the car was clearly overloaded and overwhelmed by the whole experience. I tried hard to let them work through things and not push one way or the other. I tried to respect that it wasn't my effort to lead, but I finally had to look at her and say we needed to make a final decision on one approach and buy supplies before the store closed. She ended up going with mine.
Of course now the pressure was on. There had been so many ideas and so much perceived opposition that I couldn't let it fail. Unfortunately building in advance wasn't an option. We wouldn't know until the day of the event whether it would actually come together and do so in the two hours we had planned.
The next night we started making what few parts we could. The materials didn't quite cooperate with us or each other. We came up with alternate solutions, but we didn't get anywhere close to finished. I took the pieces home and spent the next two nights making wheels and figuring out how to construct them in such a way that they could be assembled and customized on site. In pieces was the only way they would fit in my car.
We ran out of time to do the t-shirts, so they decided to have somebody make sashes instead. The flag had also been forgotten about, so somebody else was asked to make a sign in its place.
Every day I went into work one of the guys would ask about the latest in the saga of Cinderella's carriage. He'd laugh at the notion of me leading a pack of girls around Lowe's or playing princess for a night. When I told him I was building pieces for a design I still hadn't worked all the bugs out of he welcomed me to engineering. Somewhere behind the laughter I think he was proud.
Friday found me excited but also nervous on several fronts. I got antsy in the parking lot as the minutes ticked past when we were supposed to meet and the rain began. The car would arrive half an hour later than planned and I was asked for reassurance that we could still get things done. "Yes, it will be fine," I said as much to convince myself as to convince her. "We'll make it work with whatever time we have. It will require focus, but we can get it done. It will be okay."
I had the steps figured out. We would build from the top down. First we would do the blankets, then the foam, then the wire, then the wheels, then the fabric. Everything blew up at step 3. The staple gun failed in every way imaginable and I cut the wire much shorter than I wanted. We made something work and the rest of the group arrived just in time to make it look pretty. Finishing took every minute we had. I donned my sash like a good little princess and put my tiara on over the jester hat I'd worn all day as the first guests arrived.
From the right angle, and when there weren't people blocking it, the car looked alright. I was far from impressed, so my inclination was to assume the other girls felt the same. Several of the kids loved it though. I remember one little girl in particular whose face lit up with a "wow" expression when she walked over for her candy and a young knight who had his picture taken with all of us.
As with most projects, teardown went much quicker than setup. The wheels found a new home with one of the teachers in the group and the sign was given to a girl who believed our car was confirmation of the "Daughters of the King" name God had given her for a new dance ministry. One or two of the other girls would tell me I'd done a good job and the co-leader of our group was thrilled with how everything had worked out. She said she'd never had that big a turnout for an outreach and seemed to think I had some part in that because I'd made it possible.
I didn't see how. I hadn't thrown the event, I hadn't made anyone come out, and I hadn't done anything that would not have been possible without me. I showed up and did my job. I gave them something to decorate and build on. Once my job was done, I was lost. I spent the majority of the night sitting on the car giving out candy because it was easier than trying to fit into a group I wasn't part of.
But how I felt didn't matter. The important thing is that I was there. I had tried something different and allowed myself to be uncomfortable. Having done it once and survived makes me more likely to try again. I also have to believe it will get easier. Some things just take time before we reach that easy place of happily ever after. Maybe I should hold onto that tiara for when I do...
Captured At:2258
November 4, 2008
Now is the Time for All Good Men to come to the Aid of the Party...
At this very moment the first results of the 2008 Presidential Election are trickling in. When morning comes the world will be a different place. History will have been made and the country will be counting down the days until it inaugurates its first minority president. If that's not the outcome, the nation will be reeling from one of the greatest upsets of all time.Selecting the leader of your nation is no small thing. I distinctly remember a debate my then-boyfriend and I had in the summer of 2004 over this very issue. The US Navy's latest piece of human property was lecturing me about the importance of the political process. I hadn't voted in 2000 and did not plan to do so in the upcoming election. He was floored. He argued that I was a US citizen of voting age and therefore obligated to cast a ballot. I countered that I was a woman of childbearing age and some would say that I was obligated to reproduce, but that didn't mean I should. Being of age to do something and being ready to take on the responsibility that accompanies it are very different. If I didn't feel I was at a point in my life to cultivate the political acumen that would allow me to make an informed decision, I believed the responsible thing to do was abstain.
I registered to vote in October of that year more to leave my option of participation open than anything else. I had no intention to actually act on it. At the last minute I changed my mind.
Yesterday I sat in the office being honest about how close I was to just not voting at all. I didn't feel I could give my support to either candidate and I certainly didn't see the point of standing in line for two hours to cast a ballot for somebody I didn't believe in. True I was being given the chance to pick who I work for, but I saw reason to not want association with either individual. Responses to my position ranged from "I can't really argue with that" to "I hope you change your mind" to "Just vote for McCain". Others had commented that since I live in Florida, my vote might actually count for something.
This morning I overslept. I readied myself for work as usual and set out for the cape, but instead of turning left I turned right. I had changed my mind at the last minute again.
I signed my name on the page, accepted the ballot, and took a shielded table by the wall. First Item: President. I skipped it and began filling in the rest. If I recognized the name from one of the robocalls I'd been receiving at work for weeks, I automatically voted against them. The rest was far more Christmas tree'd than it should have been, but every so often I would pause to check my conscience before blobbing in the oval. With the remainder of the ballot complete I had one choice left to make.
So who would my pick for President be? Could I drink the Kool-Aid and vote for a man with flowery words and nothing behind them? Could I support a volatile personality whose VP in tow I didn't entirely trust? Which of the policies I didn't agree with would be strong enough to turn me against their champion? Would I vote for my family's party because it was easier or break with them in some perceived fit of independence?
I pondered these questions for a while. If it hadn't been for work, I probably would have stood there longer deliberating between a pair of men who have been front and center for two long years. Finally the pen came down. The decision had been made, but I felt no better for it. I closed the folder of the ballot to make sure the selection wasn't visible to anyone. I tried to slide it into the electronic reader as discretely as possible. Everything in my actions said I was ashamed.
I left the polling place feeling defeated instead of free. The truth was that I didn't believe in either man enough to give him control of my rapidly declining nation. I didn't agree with their attitudes or their motives or their campaigns. My ballot had no real substance and its plasticity was personally disappointing. As somebody who makes every attempt to be genuine in what she says and does, Election Day 2008 was a failure. It wasn't going to matter which party won when it was all over. Either way, I had lost.
Captured At:1923
November 20, 2008
Why Don't You Write Me
Walking to my car last night I was struck by the silhouette of trees against the bold blue and orange sunset as only low temperatures can convey it. Something in the chill makes the night sky more crisp than any other meteorological condition and I always pause a moment to take it in despite how violently my body may be shivering. The peace and beauty and sense of home are unmatched.On the drive south I considered what remained of the evening. The lack of motivation I continued to suffer from suggested I would go home and spend the next several hours on the couch doing nothing of any importance. The condition of my apartment did not matter. The half-written posts did not matter. The absence of food in my kitchen did not matter. Nothing really did.
I recognize it as a symptom of being tired. Of living in an impossible situation for far too long - one where I am fighting to do the absolute best I know on every side knowing all the while that none of it will matter. Days spent hurt and frustrated and battling what seems to be the entire world take their toll. In the end the only real feeling that remains is one of accepted defeat.
I don't want to be the person calling out the bad and the wrong all the time. I don't want to be the one spending hours at a keyboard trying to carefully craft a message I know is right that will only ratchet up the number in my column of enemies. That scolding, negative, impossible to please individual is not the sort of person I want to be. How can I ever succeed at being a positive force if those are the only messages I ever get to send?
It became clear I had sent too many when I was told I'm getting better at them. I have entered this mode of writing unpleasant email that strives to remove all opinion and emotion and present only the facts as I know them to exist. But most people are emotional creatures bound to attach more to my words than I ever intended them to carry. One by one they're just deciding to stop talking to me. If I were in their position, I probably would too.
The one piece of good I can see coming out of this entire mess is a driver to overcome my email addiction. When I send messages I don't like I'm more apt to ignore my email so I can postpone reading responses I already know I don't want to see. The "leash" has lived in my backpack powered off for the better part of two weeks. It's about time we had some distance.
Where I get hit the most is these moments at home. After hours of difficult email and uncooperative documentation the last thing I want to do is watch more words fill a page. The things I want to share become no longer important. The scenes I want to remember fade with the hours. The enjoyment of crafting phrases to explore ideas or paint memories is nowhere to be found. It's not that there's nothing to be said, it's that I don't care enough to say it. The part of me willing to expend the effort is the first to dissolve when the off switch is flicked. If I'm honest, it's been off a while. That's why all the words have disappeared.
Captured At:2144
November 24, 2008
There were moments it was slightly awkward to look around and realize I was the one person who really didn't belong There were moments of questioning my words or why I was still talking. There were moments of feeling lost and unsure in a place that once was home.
But there was also time to talk and to smile. To answer questions. To feel like I was helping somebody else and that maybe it somehow made a difference. That part of the job was always the one I had liked best. I could smile and joke and pretend I'd never left. I could focus on all of the positives instead of all of the negatives because in those situations it was all I ever did. I was who everybody always believed me to be.
Then I was reunited with my phone, and the stories it had to tell shattered every piece of progress I had made in the previous hours. I became lost and wounded, again longing for things I simply do not have and grow increasingly sure I will never see in my life again. I had no idea what to do. Every attempt I could make to reach out - minor as it may have been - failed.
I get dragged down because I keep failing when I most need not to. I get dragged down because I do the very best I can and it never works. I get dragged down because I lack any mastery of the English language when it comes to getting somebody to understand where I am and how I think and what something really is to me. I get tired of failing. I get tired of having to do absolutely every little thing in my life alone. People don't survive that way, and yet when I start to crumble under the pressure of trying because it's all I've been given it's some failing in me and due to a punch list of things I'm doing wrong.
I have never professed perfection. I have never claimed that everything I do is right. I recognize that there are aspects of my personality which make me extremely challenging. I'm willing to try and work on them, but how am I ever going to break the cycle when there is absolutely nobody who can meet me half way?
Where do you go - what do you do - when there is a drought of people who are able to convey that they actually do understand? People say they do, but I've never been a "tell me" person. I have to experience something before I can even begin to believe it. I wish I knew what made me so impossible, so unreachable, so blind, so apparently crazy. I'm tired, and even the small victories aren't enough to help wash the fatigue away.
Again I look around and again I find myself asking one of the questions that plagues me: "Is it really supposed to be this hard?" I can't say I like where the evidence is pointing.
Captured At: 940
November 28, 2008
I was reminded several times of the peace I would enjoy on those occasions watching my aunt and uncle's trio. I was always torn when I would take up temporary residence there. Sometimes I welcomed the peace and the distance; others even ten minutes felt too far away from the life I had come to know on the campus that became my home.
What I saw then - and what I continue to see today - are flashes of my life still to come. They are accompanied by a cocktail of nostalgia, longing and anticipation that I am extremely familiar with. I have to believe my life does level off eventually and that there will be more to it than this. I won't profess any knowledge of when it will happen or how such a thing is even possible, but I still believe.
For the short term I can be thankful for climbing out of where I had tumbled a week ago. Somewhere in all of it I got frustrated with myself to the point of rebellion. I decided that I don't have to attempt to explain myself to anybody. I'm allowed to feel what I do so long as I don't become mired in those emotions. The thing I feared most (thank God) did not happen, though if I'm honest, I have to wonder how many more times I will go through something similar before it's all over. It certainly put things in perspective - also something I needed.
As distance grew between disaster and I, I was able to dust myself off and get to the things I needed to. My vacation has since felt full without being stressful. And, as most vacations do, this one seems to have been too short. Tomorrow it's back to work for a week living at the Orlando Convention Center. It's far from the most glamorous life in the world, but it's mine and it's the only one I have. I hope someday I break the cycle of taking it for granted.
Captured At:2037