"Sucks to be me tomorrow morning; 8AM presentation! ARG!!"
"So bored at work, and its just Thursday."
"I'd rather be in bed than at work LOL!"
Various posts on my Facebook news feed. No different from a typical day.
If you have ever been unemployed, such comments can frustrate you. I had been without a real full time job for years. The role of wife and mother had replaced my professional life as working woman. When I separated last year, my part time job ended at the same time. I took a very part time job (read 8 hours a week) that allowed me to earn pocket money and little else. I felt bored. I would send resumes on Craigslist. Bad choice. 98% of all job listings on Craigslist are recruiters for personnel agencies, phishing for resumes to meet quota, or hackers hoping to get your bank account number and wipe you clean.
In January, I decided to really start looking for a job. The part time job was not expanding my hours, and the boss kept saying "We'll have investors next month, then you can run this place!" I had grown tired of those lies. The best thing happened to me on Monday January 31st. The boss let me go-by text message. "Hey Jane, just got out of a meeting and we don't have the funds for you this month. I'll bring you back in a couple of weeks. Thanks". I'm not kidding.
I was relieved. I redid my resume, took out all reference to sales and found all the employment agencies in my city. I created accounts on Monster and Hotjobs. I literally pounded the pavement. One agency asked me if I would temp while they helped me get a permanent job. Of course, I said.
Temping is like being a French mistress. Everyone knows you have no commitment, you leave for other interviews, and can have a flexible schedule. What an excellent concept! The company where I temped seemed like a great bunch of people, but they weren't hiring full time staff.
My first interview was held in a coffee shop. The lady was opening up a music school, need teachers and administrative staff. Her energy was scattered and desperate. She already ran a program from her studio, and boy she needed help! She showed me the space-a converted coffee shop. My gut said NO. When I tried to discuss money she said "Of course, the teachers should get paid what their worth! I've poured my life savings into this-", which is another way of saying, will you work for free until we get students? I politely bowed out.
The temp agency referred me to another office. The far away office had ungodly hours, 7:30AM to 6PM. They wanted to hire a recruiter to oversee old accounts, create new accounts. Recruiting is like sales. Usually, its low starting pay but then you make the bucks with commission. The body language from the two women screamed insecurity. I know scored the interview, and quickly called back to ask about starting salary. "She's in a meeting". I left a message. The next day I wrote an email asking for starting salary. Five days passed before I got a reply. They were going with someone else. Whatever.
The next interview was easily an hour from my home. I met the owner. All business. He didn't believe in dress down Fridays, or wearing the local team's jersey on game night. You leave your personal life outside, and devote your 8 to 10 hours to the business. When he asked how fast I typed, my response made him frown. "I'l gonna stop you right there. We need someone who can type at least triple that." I was relieved. I couldn't allow myself to work for a such strict boss, and I knew the commute alone would grind my teeth to powder.
I was prepped for the interview at the finance company. My recruiter said "The bosses are brothers who don't get alone. They curse, a lot. You need to have thick skin." I passed the first interview so well, I got a second one. Sitting in that high-rise office, in my suit, I thought about the long hours this job would impose; all I could envision was my daughter's face. Back in the recruiter's office, she asked me if I would take an offer that was lower than my asking price. No, I wouldn't. I didn't get that one.
The next place was laid back, but big. I saw 4 people, men, all of whom were more impressed that I showed up in a suit than my skills. They wanted me to temp, and eventually go permanent. Their starting price was lower than what I was currently making at the first temp job. I didn't even return their call when the recruiter counter offered for 50 cents more.
On April 14, I was summoned into the office of the Director of Operations at the temp job. I was given an offer to go permanent. I accepted. I had found an environment that fulfilled my spirit. Its never the company that matters, its the people. You will spend 1/3 of your day with these people, you must enjoy them.
All those interviews taught me very valuable lessons:
-If salary is a struggle to discuss, don't take it.
-If the hours sacrifice your personal life, don't take it.
-If you are asked to not talk about your personal life, "leave your drama at home", don't take it.
-If you are asked to forgive outrageous abusive behavior before the interview, don't take it.
-If the company is tight with their office space and tighter with their money, don't take it.
-If you feel appreciated and valued, if you can feel relaxed and welcomed, if the work is achievable, and you believe in the company; TAKE IT.
I love my job. Its administrative. I thrive at the copier, answering phones, doing expense reports. I have pictures of my daughter on my desk. I can wear my jeans on Fridays. The days of boredom are over. I can thrive again.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Talkin' Bout a Revolution, not a Whisper
When I woke up this morning, I stood before my alter and said a prayer. I prayed for the mothers in Egypt. I prayed that change would be good for them, for their children. I was hopeful.
When I saw the cover of the New York Times I saw the change. It was dark and violent. It was angry. It was dangerous. I was scared. For the mothers. For the children.
I don't know the politics. I'm not going to pretend. I'm not going to spout American Left wing Right wing hyperbole.
I am a mother.
I live in a country where my child gets free education. I can speak my mind freely in public. I can get a job. I have no idea what it would be like to NOT have those things.
I know what it feels like to want my child to have opportunities. Safety, security, education.
Then I watched NBC Nightly News. Brian Williams spoke to an American woman trapped in her apartment. She was fending off a gang of thugs trying to break into her apartment. Mary Thornberry was 77 years old. She refused to leave because, "its her home."
I became a worried daughter. I thought about what I would do if my mother was half-way across the globe, alone, scared. Fighting angry men off with a paring knife. Watching change on prime real estate. Hearing revolution outside her window.
In the city where I live, flags of black and gold wave on breezes. Twenty minutes of the local news are devoted to the football team and their quest for "Seven". Superbowl. Snow covers the ground. In stillness I can hear birds. I can talk to my mother on the phone. My daughter sleeps with her arms wrapped around a Barbie doll, dreaming of school in the morning. This is my democracy, this is my freedom, this is my right. This is my normal.
Somewhere in North Africa, there is a mother that wishes for my life.
I am grateful for what I have, and I'm thankful. I will pray for her, and all the mothers that want something better for their children, their country.
When I saw the cover of the New York Times I saw the change. It was dark and violent. It was angry. It was dangerous. I was scared. For the mothers. For the children.
I don't know the politics. I'm not going to pretend. I'm not going to spout American Left wing Right wing hyperbole.
I am a mother.
I live in a country where my child gets free education. I can speak my mind freely in public. I can get a job. I have no idea what it would be like to NOT have those things.
I know what it feels like to want my child to have opportunities. Safety, security, education.
Then I watched NBC Nightly News. Brian Williams spoke to an American woman trapped in her apartment. She was fending off a gang of thugs trying to break into her apartment. Mary Thornberry was 77 years old. She refused to leave because, "its her home."
I became a worried daughter. I thought about what I would do if my mother was half-way across the globe, alone, scared. Fighting angry men off with a paring knife. Watching change on prime real estate. Hearing revolution outside her window.
In the city where I live, flags of black and gold wave on breezes. Twenty minutes of the local news are devoted to the football team and their quest for "Seven". Superbowl. Snow covers the ground. In stillness I can hear birds. I can talk to my mother on the phone. My daughter sleeps with her arms wrapped around a Barbie doll, dreaming of school in the morning. This is my democracy, this is my freedom, this is my right. This is my normal.
Somewhere in North Africa, there is a mother that wishes for my life.
I am grateful for what I have, and I'm thankful. I will pray for her, and all the mothers that want something better for their children, their country.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
My Sexy Muse Awakens
Inspiration is a quality that can't be forced or manufactured. You can't schedule it to your iCal, nor predict it with Doppler machinery. Anyone with a creative side is constantly searching for that spark of inspiration, that blast of wind that drives the pen, births the song, creates the dance. Sometimes, that spark is a modern muse; a person that has just the right amount of chemistry to permit inspiration a formal place by your side.
Many, many years ago I met a man who lived in my neighborhood. John Down the Street was attractive and we hit it off. We became lovers long before the term "friends with benefits" was coined, pocketed and mass-marketed. I had never experienced such passion and lust; our evenings together should have been filmed and sold as "How to Please" videos. I would never sleep over despite his insistence. I wanted to be alone, by myself, and not for dramatic effect.
I wanted to write.
Sex with John flooded my mind with Greek-like inspiration. The Sexy Muse in me wrote poems, plays, stories. I was so moved by this new waterfall of creativity, My Sexy Muse, that I wrote a few pieces in his honor, which were later produced into a performance piece. John and I shared knowing winks at curtain call.
I continued to write after our sexual tryst ended. John, just a memory, weaved out of my woven life. A bright thread beautifully patterned in my blanket life. My creative waterfall flowed, strong and violent sometimes, gentle and soothing another. I could always write. My Sexy Muse was by my side.
And then I got married.
It all stopped. My waterfall dried up. Dry stone and dirt ran to the lip of a long drop that poured into mud. A dead place. I would put pen to paper and I would see nothing, no words no ideas. Space. Dark black suffocating space. I would try and meditate, will some inspiration into me. Cold. I visualized a creative fire, blazing and warming me. Here was my muse! I would close my eyes and see burnt wood, dried up and turned to ash. I was broken. I was alone.
I took a respite to see my friend Jane the Fierce Lion during my creative hospitalization. Every morning she and her husband John the Calm would serve me coffee and breakfast. There was no schedule to follow, no plans to make. I healed Me with love and forgiveness. One evening as I washed the dished, Jane came behind me, hugged me and said,
"When you feel appreciated, you are inspired."
And suddenly, I felt a shift. My waterfall hadn't dried up; it had been blocked, dammed up. Log and stone had been methodically placed to prevent my creativity from flowing. All effective change is gradual. Jane's small moving loving gesture pushed a log out of the way. With every loving act I gave myself, be it dancing, or laughing, or talking openly with a good friend, another log rolled out of place. The creative water began to flow over the edge. A steady stream of creativity poured into the forgiving pool of ideas. I performed in two plays, I wrote a few pieces. I returned to the Me I always was; confident, strong, feisty, opinionated. I found her, my Sexy Muse, peaceful. She had been asleep.
Recently I met someone. This New John Down the Street is confident and strong, very attractive. We have a tangible chemistry that is nothing short of two people who really like each other. After one evening of serious hot kissing and heavy petting, I felt that long ago familiar flood in my mind. I rushed home to find my Sexy Muse wide awake and restless.
My waterfall has roared back to life. Wet, loud and ferocious.
Many, many years ago I met a man who lived in my neighborhood. John Down the Street was attractive and we hit it off. We became lovers long before the term "friends with benefits" was coined, pocketed and mass-marketed. I had never experienced such passion and lust; our evenings together should have been filmed and sold as "How to Please" videos. I would never sleep over despite his insistence. I wanted to be alone, by myself, and not for dramatic effect.
I wanted to write.
Sex with John flooded my mind with Greek-like inspiration. The Sexy Muse in me wrote poems, plays, stories. I was so moved by this new waterfall of creativity, My Sexy Muse, that I wrote a few pieces in his honor, which were later produced into a performance piece. John and I shared knowing winks at curtain call.
I continued to write after our sexual tryst ended. John, just a memory, weaved out of my woven life. A bright thread beautifully patterned in my blanket life. My creative waterfall flowed, strong and violent sometimes, gentle and soothing another. I could always write. My Sexy Muse was by my side.
And then I got married.
It all stopped. My waterfall dried up. Dry stone and dirt ran to the lip of a long drop that poured into mud. A dead place. I would put pen to paper and I would see nothing, no words no ideas. Space. Dark black suffocating space. I would try and meditate, will some inspiration into me. Cold. I visualized a creative fire, blazing and warming me. Here was my muse! I would close my eyes and see burnt wood, dried up and turned to ash. I was broken. I was alone.
I took a respite to see my friend Jane the Fierce Lion during my creative hospitalization. Every morning she and her husband John the Calm would serve me coffee and breakfast. There was no schedule to follow, no plans to make. I healed Me with love and forgiveness. One evening as I washed the dished, Jane came behind me, hugged me and said,
"When you feel appreciated, you are inspired."
And suddenly, I felt a shift. My waterfall hadn't dried up; it had been blocked, dammed up. Log and stone had been methodically placed to prevent my creativity from flowing. All effective change is gradual. Jane's small moving loving gesture pushed a log out of the way. With every loving act I gave myself, be it dancing, or laughing, or talking openly with a good friend, another log rolled out of place. The creative water began to flow over the edge. A steady stream of creativity poured into the forgiving pool of ideas. I performed in two plays, I wrote a few pieces. I returned to the Me I always was; confident, strong, feisty, opinionated. I found her, my Sexy Muse, peaceful. She had been asleep.
Recently I met someone. This New John Down the Street is confident and strong, very attractive. We have a tangible chemistry that is nothing short of two people who really like each other. After one evening of serious hot kissing and heavy petting, I felt that long ago familiar flood in my mind. I rushed home to find my Sexy Muse wide awake and restless.
My waterfall has roared back to life. Wet, loud and ferocious.
Monday, December 13, 2010
What I want for my daughter
Mini-Me Jane will be five years old in January. Like every other girl, she plays with Barbie dolls, walks in my shoes, and knows to eat healthy snacks. She will always ask for fruit before candy. I raised her that way. We play Abby & Emma dress up dolls, she sings, and she love to watch movies. She gets that quirk from me.
I am extremely conscious of a heartbreaking trend that my daughter might one day desire. I've seen this persistent backward trend on television and in the movies. In casual conversations, I've heard it repeated. I've seen the after effects of this trend, and I've ever seen this trend fail. And unfortunately, this trend is just for girls. I dread to hear these word:
"All my life I dreamed about my wedding day."
"One day I hope I marry a wonderful man."
"I just won't be happy until I get married."
"I just don't know where I would be without my husband."
Let me quickly say; I'm NOT against marriage. If you meet a wonderful fantastic person that promises to walk with you in the valleys and mountains of your life, you are fortunate. My issue is declaring marriage for a woman is the end all, be all, GOAL in life. Such an expectation is rarely placed on men. Men are expected to be successful in their career, (didn't your mother want you to MARRY a doctor?), their homes, and their personal achievements (climbing Mt. Everest, creating Viagra).
I have sat with now divorced women who look lovingly at their wedding photos. "I was so beautiful that day, so thin. It was the best day of my life." They collapse into tears. "My life is over!" They are 35 years old. They look around as if pages of truth will peel from the walls. "What will I do? Who would want me, now?"
You're kidding me, right?
When I was a little Jane, growing up in the Apple, I would daydream about my Oscar speech. Really. I would pretend to be on the Johnny Carson show, and talk about living in Florida, and my upcoming film. Performing was my goal in life. My mom never gushed about weddings. Hell, Mom didn't even wear make-up. Mom always took me to my dance classes, acting classes. She never sat down with me to talk about weddings and marriage. My cousins & I never had that talk either.
I believe my mom and pop had such faith and love in me, they did all they could to cultivate my character. We traveled, along with my brother the Rock Star, all over the world. At no point was "wedding" discussed. When I was in my twenties, my father began the gentle "lean"; when will you find a husband, Janie? As if my monthly Husband Catalog were piled high and deep in the hallway, collecting dust. I was still working on that Oscar speech. At the same time, I was writing plays, back in school, working a job, digging myself deep in credit card debt. I was living life. When I reached my thirties, I finally thought about having a mate, a partner in crime, a husband.
And after a mild quiet divorce, I'm still thinking about finding him. But its NOT my goal in life. I'm STILL working on my speech.
I want my Mini Me Jane to have a rich fantastic life with a career, a home, and an incredible wardrobe. I want my Mini Me Jane to be proud and confident with her body, her hair, her face. If she goes to Yale or community college, I want her to follow her dream. I want her to have personal achievement goals, and I will do all I can to help her accomplish them. And if along the way she meets someone, and they are lucky and brave enough to ask her to marry them, I hope she continues her goals. This is what I want for my daughter.
I am extremely conscious of a heartbreaking trend that my daughter might one day desire. I've seen this persistent backward trend on television and in the movies. In casual conversations, I've heard it repeated. I've seen the after effects of this trend, and I've ever seen this trend fail. And unfortunately, this trend is just for girls. I dread to hear these word:
"All my life I dreamed about my wedding day."
"One day I hope I marry a wonderful man."
"I just won't be happy until I get married."
"I just don't know where I would be without my husband."
Let me quickly say; I'm NOT against marriage. If you meet a wonderful fantastic person that promises to walk with you in the valleys and mountains of your life, you are fortunate. My issue is declaring marriage for a woman is the end all, be all, GOAL in life. Such an expectation is rarely placed on men. Men are expected to be successful in their career, (didn't your mother want you to MARRY a doctor?), their homes, and their personal achievements (climbing Mt. Everest, creating Viagra).
I have sat with now divorced women who look lovingly at their wedding photos. "I was so beautiful that day, so thin. It was the best day of my life." They collapse into tears. "My life is over!" They are 35 years old. They look around as if pages of truth will peel from the walls. "What will I do? Who would want me, now?"
You're kidding me, right?
When I was a little Jane, growing up in the Apple, I would daydream about my Oscar speech. Really. I would pretend to be on the Johnny Carson show, and talk about living in Florida, and my upcoming film. Performing was my goal in life. My mom never gushed about weddings. Hell, Mom didn't even wear make-up. Mom always took me to my dance classes, acting classes. She never sat down with me to talk about weddings and marriage. My cousins & I never had that talk either.
I believe my mom and pop had such faith and love in me, they did all they could to cultivate my character. We traveled, along with my brother the Rock Star, all over the world. At no point was "wedding" discussed. When I was in my twenties, my father began the gentle "lean"; when will you find a husband, Janie? As if my monthly Husband Catalog were piled high and deep in the hallway, collecting dust. I was still working on that Oscar speech. At the same time, I was writing plays, back in school, working a job, digging myself deep in credit card debt. I was living life. When I reached my thirties, I finally thought about having a mate, a partner in crime, a husband.
And after a mild quiet divorce, I'm still thinking about finding him. But its NOT my goal in life. I'm STILL working on my speech.
I want my Mini Me Jane to have a rich fantastic life with a career, a home, and an incredible wardrobe. I want my Mini Me Jane to be proud and confident with her body, her hair, her face. If she goes to Yale or community college, I want her to follow her dream. I want her to have personal achievement goals, and I will do all I can to help her accomplish them. And if along the way she meets someone, and they are lucky and brave enough to ask her to marry them, I hope she continues her goals. This is what I want for my daughter.
They Might be Monsters
I do my best to go out into the world with an open heart. The angry driver who cuts me off, the smarmy barista that barely cracks a smile; I know these attitudes are not directed at me, I just happen to be there. I wish no ill will to these people. In fact, I wish them peace and content and understanding. But, on occasion I have come across people with "monster" mentality. That is when I run the other way like my life depended on it.
We encounter monsters almost every day. Sometimes we are related to them. Like most horror movies, there are red flags and signs to indicate a monster is present. It is your right to save yourself before you become "one of them". I have come up with four monsters and ways you can escape.
The Vampire: Your girlfriend has a great home, children and husband. You go to visit her one day, and in 15 minutes she has convinced you to color your hair, buy $300 jeans, participate in the cookie exchange, and go dancing on Saturday night. This isn't the Twilight vampire you daydream about. This vampire sucks your energy and hypnotizes you into poor judgment decisions. You know you've encountered a vampire when you get home tired, late, and overall confused. Why did I do that? you ask yourself. The best defense from a vampire is avoidance. Don't go into their "lair", meet in a public place and stick to your time limit. Vampires get off on the attention. Give them less of yours and suddenly they are looking for another victim.
The Mummy: Your co-worker watches every reality show ever created, buys only high end handbags, clothes, and is constantly complaining about her wrinkles, grey hair. Then she gossips about everyone. The mummy is wrapped up in superficiality, which hides the personal insecurities. Always trying to compete with the celebrities in the rag magazines, mummy-mentality seeks comfort and company in misery. To defeat the mummy you need to keep your mouth shut. Give them no input, no information. Once the mummy realizes you are no longer a viable soundboard, your boring quiet life is no longer of interest.
The Zombie: I had a job interview a few weeks ago. I met with a woman who was out of breath and immediately assigned me a myriad of tasks. Her cell phone went off and she took the call. We were 3 minutes into the interview, and I knew about her ailing father, her divorce, her lack of funds and her desire to find hard working people for her business. The zombie is often late, always busy doing something, and needs your help . They never take a moment to heal, they don't even know they are injured, but they want YOU to take care of them. NOW. Just like the movies, your best defense is to block the zombie from grabbing you. You become equally busy and unavailable. Cold? Yes. But the zombie is trying to off load their issues for you to resolve. You have your own things to take care of.
The Ghost: Remember the time in high school when you wore that outfit and the teacher made a comment? Remember when you were dating that guy with the hair and what he said at dinner? Of course you don't, but the ghost does. The ghost mentality lives and thrives in the past. Most of the time, they recall their accomplishments and your humiliations. They remind you of the turkey you undercooked three years ago, or how much you drank on that girls' weekend. The ghost doesn't want anyone to point out their imperfections so they are quick to point out everyone else's. Even if they have to dredge up your imperfections from last century. Keep conversations in the present with a ghost (what are you doing this weekend) and deflect the past comments by laughing it off.
All monster mentality people ultimately ignore their own feelings of pain and fear. Life isn't an easy skip in the meadow. Sometimes it rains, sometimes you get hurt. You can become a monster and run away from those problems, or you can be the triumphant hero and battle those problems. Pick up your shield and sword, get your boots muddy, and deal with your own problems in your own pace.
We encounter monsters almost every day. Sometimes we are related to them. Like most horror movies, there are red flags and signs to indicate a monster is present. It is your right to save yourself before you become "one of them". I have come up with four monsters and ways you can escape.
The Vampire: Your girlfriend has a great home, children and husband. You go to visit her one day, and in 15 minutes she has convinced you to color your hair, buy $300 jeans, participate in the cookie exchange, and go dancing on Saturday night. This isn't the Twilight vampire you daydream about. This vampire sucks your energy and hypnotizes you into poor judgment decisions. You know you've encountered a vampire when you get home tired, late, and overall confused. Why did I do that? you ask yourself. The best defense from a vampire is avoidance. Don't go into their "lair", meet in a public place and stick to your time limit. Vampires get off on the attention. Give them less of yours and suddenly they are looking for another victim.
The Mummy: Your co-worker watches every reality show ever created, buys only high end handbags, clothes, and is constantly complaining about her wrinkles, grey hair. Then she gossips about everyone. The mummy is wrapped up in superficiality, which hides the personal insecurities. Always trying to compete with the celebrities in the rag magazines, mummy-mentality seeks comfort and company in misery. To defeat the mummy you need to keep your mouth shut. Give them no input, no information. Once the mummy realizes you are no longer a viable soundboard, your boring quiet life is no longer of interest.
The Zombie: I had a job interview a few weeks ago. I met with a woman who was out of breath and immediately assigned me a myriad of tasks. Her cell phone went off and she took the call. We were 3 minutes into the interview, and I knew about her ailing father, her divorce, her lack of funds and her desire to find hard working people for her business. The zombie is often late, always busy doing something, and needs your help . They never take a moment to heal, they don't even know they are injured, but they want YOU to take care of them. NOW. Just like the movies, your best defense is to block the zombie from grabbing you. You become equally busy and unavailable. Cold? Yes. But the zombie is trying to off load their issues for you to resolve. You have your own things to take care of.
The Ghost: Remember the time in high school when you wore that outfit and the teacher made a comment? Remember when you were dating that guy with the hair and what he said at dinner? Of course you don't, but the ghost does. The ghost mentality lives and thrives in the past. Most of the time, they recall their accomplishments and your humiliations. They remind you of the turkey you undercooked three years ago, or how much you drank on that girls' weekend. The ghost doesn't want anyone to point out their imperfections so they are quick to point out everyone else's. Even if they have to dredge up your imperfections from last century. Keep conversations in the present with a ghost (what are you doing this weekend) and deflect the past comments by laughing it off.
All monster mentality people ultimately ignore their own feelings of pain and fear. Life isn't an easy skip in the meadow. Sometimes it rains, sometimes you get hurt. You can become a monster and run away from those problems, or you can be the triumphant hero and battle those problems. Pick up your shield and sword, get your boots muddy, and deal with your own problems in your own pace.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Definitions and references
Out of respect for my friends and family, I won't use real names. Women will be "Jane", men will be "John". I will differentiate them by their traits. For example, John the Rock Star is my brother, Jane the Fierce Lion is my friend who lives West. Only I will know who I'm really talking about.
I'm being vague for a reason. When you strip away a person's identity, their name, their job title, you are left with describing them by their actions, not how they look. You then need to describe a person by the quality of their character.
This blog is not meant to slam or blast people either. That requires a lot of effort, and frankly, I would like to use my powers for good. I will, however, voice my humble opinion on issues or trends that get under my skin. I'm not a fan of television, I don't have any cable channels. I don't schedule my life around what's on that night. I watch scripted shows, and I'm a fan of Oprah. I reference her A LOT. I deplore gossip, celebrity and otherwise. I understand why our society has such an obsession with it. I won't spread tales or half-truths on here.
Finally, I'm writing this blog because I love to write, and I believe I have a relatable story to tell. So read on....
I'm being vague for a reason. When you strip away a person's identity, their name, their job title, you are left with describing them by their actions, not how they look. You then need to describe a person by the quality of their character.
This blog is not meant to slam or blast people either. That requires a lot of effort, and frankly, I would like to use my powers for good. I will, however, voice my humble opinion on issues or trends that get under my skin. I'm not a fan of television, I don't have any cable channels. I don't schedule my life around what's on that night. I watch scripted shows, and I'm a fan of Oprah. I reference her A LOT. I deplore gossip, celebrity and otherwise. I understand why our society has such an obsession with it. I won't spread tales or half-truths on here.
Finally, I'm writing this blog because I love to write, and I believe I have a relatable story to tell. So read on....
I'm like you, and then no
My experiences are similar to yours, and perhaps way off the map. Here come the "labels":
I am an American woman, born and raised in NYC, now living in Pittsburgh.
I'm 41 years old, but I'm often mistaken for late twenties.
I am the mother to an almost 5 year old girl.
I am separated, divorce pending.
I am the daughter of parents 40+ years married; my father is, for clarity sake, in a coma, while my mom still lives at home.
I am the sister to a brother with developmental disabilities. He live at home with Mom.
I am currently unemployed.
I am an actress by education and passion.
I don't smoke or do drugs, which makes me "smart" and "healthy".
I've made the conscious decision to decrease my social drinking, which makes me "weird".
Those are the "labels" with which my ego or personality identifies. In a spiritual sense, I am NOT any of those things. I am just here. Eckhart Tolle writes, "You are here to enable the Divine Purpose of the Universe to unfold." I'm doing my best to be that purpose, while still living in a space where "labels" are required.
My Double Normal Life is this new dual situation I have placed myself. This didn't HAPPEN to me, I didn't wake up and FIND myself here. I take full responsibility and accountability, a rare quality trait I wish more of us would embrace. Sometimes I'm Mom; pick up drop off feed bathe entertain adore admonish. Sometimes I'm Single; dance flirt date eat shower adore advise. When I'm with my daughter, I am present; I eat up every moment, I go into Mom mode. However, when I'm Single, doing adult things, I never forget I'm a mom. Still a mom. And a sister. And a daughter.
I have my own condo. I haven't lived on my own since 2000. I like to think this is the Universe's way of saying "Do over, hard reset". I was very far from being a domestic Goddess before; I have even less aspirations of that label now. I do believe in making great cooked meals, and having a home that is cozy and relaxed. And I do rush and clean 20 minutes before company comes. Most of the time the dishes are in the sink. This is why we are in a recession, right?
I've had drama, tragedy and comedy. I've witnessed cool things and horrible things. I don't know everything, but I know a lot about some things, and very little about most. I know right from wrong, and what's best from what's not that bad.
I'm like you, but I'm me.
I am an American woman, born and raised in NYC, now living in Pittsburgh.
I'm 41 years old, but I'm often mistaken for late twenties.
I am the mother to an almost 5 year old girl.
I am separated, divorce pending.
I am the daughter of parents 40+ years married; my father is, for clarity sake, in a coma, while my mom still lives at home.
I am the sister to a brother with developmental disabilities. He live at home with Mom.
I am currently unemployed.
I am an actress by education and passion.
I don't smoke or do drugs, which makes me "smart" and "healthy".
I've made the conscious decision to decrease my social drinking, which makes me "weird".
Those are the "labels" with which my ego or personality identifies. In a spiritual sense, I am NOT any of those things. I am just here. Eckhart Tolle writes, "You are here to enable the Divine Purpose of the Universe to unfold." I'm doing my best to be that purpose, while still living in a space where "labels" are required.
My Double Normal Life is this new dual situation I have placed myself. This didn't HAPPEN to me, I didn't wake up and FIND myself here. I take full responsibility and accountability, a rare quality trait I wish more of us would embrace. Sometimes I'm Mom; pick up drop off feed bathe entertain adore admonish. Sometimes I'm Single; dance flirt date eat shower adore advise. When I'm with my daughter, I am present; I eat up every moment, I go into Mom mode. However, when I'm Single, doing adult things, I never forget I'm a mom. Still a mom. And a sister. And a daughter.
I have my own condo. I haven't lived on my own since 2000. I like to think this is the Universe's way of saying "Do over, hard reset". I was very far from being a domestic Goddess before; I have even less aspirations of that label now. I do believe in making great cooked meals, and having a home that is cozy and relaxed. And I do rush and clean 20 minutes before company comes. Most of the time the dishes are in the sink. This is why we are in a recession, right?
I've had drama, tragedy and comedy. I've witnessed cool things and horrible things. I don't know everything, but I know a lot about some things, and very little about most. I know right from wrong, and what's best from what's not that bad.
I'm like you, but I'm me.
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