For some, the act of giving and teaching by example in doing so, almost seems reflexive. They cannot help it. For some of us, we learn that compassionately and genuinely serving our fellow humans is the the meaningful link we were always missing. We are reformed self-centered humans and trying to be "of service" to others in ways heretofore unknown to us. However, being a doormat is not part of serving others. Strength of character is an integral component of service.
And so I have returned from the memorial of Ms. P. who is one of those folks who could not stop helping others. She instructed us, shared with us, revered some of us and made us all feel special in some way. To each of us, she saw our best qualities and reflected them whether we were deserving or not. She was remembered today as someone who touched the lives of many in a deeply profound yet stalwart manner. Ms. P. advocated for each one of us in some personal way and those were the stories told today. She loved, she listened, she shared and she stood by each one of us. She could not help it.
Today was perfect weather in Guerneville and I imagine her reveling in the place we held in her driveway speaking about how she mattered to us, singing and crying and laughing too. Wasn't it a beautiful sight Ms. P.?
For some of us it takes more of an effort to serve others seamlessly as my friend accomplished. For some of us we could use a stint at doing much more of it so that we might take up less space taking, taking and taking. And some of us need to make a start somewhere, somehow in a way that "isn't all about us" but rather all about what kind of mark we leave on our journey. You know what John F. Kennedy had to say about this so I won't batter you with the idea. Make a start and don't do it and tell someone you did in order to gain attention. Do it simply because doing it makes the planet a better place to be living for all of us. Let us all use the example of Ms. P. as our guide and try our best to make it stick.
Peace be with you my friend. I shall miss your truth.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Youth in Asia and saying goodbye in any language
This week has brought many hellos and goodbyes bubbling up like messages from a deep, deep ocean. I haven't been in the ocean much this summer as the season changes and it is harder to go out by myself.
I am no "Intruder In The Surf" (http://surfandthefury.blogspot.com/2011_03_01_archive.html) but rather a human trying to wash my sins away in the salty brine of the great sea's energy. My "friends" and family seem to have scattered and though it has been shocking to feel what it feels like when people admire your courage, watch you on your raft floating on the water and don't call the Coast Guard, it is the reality. People have things to do and places to go, don't they? The last thing they want is an unemployed person dragging them down. How many of us are feeling this on this Friday in July, 2011?
A frank discussion yesterday with my interviewer about euthanasia led to a new understanding for me about how animal shelters decide who stays and who goes. For them they must make these decisions which we would rather not know and for which we would rather objectify them in very, very harsh terms. They are out gatekeepers though and we ask them to illuminate the exit sign for so many animals that we selfishly create and then abandon. Most people won't even tell us that they are leaving us behind although we know it before we are left standing in the wake of their SUV-iPhone-run-you-down-in-the crosswalk-while I speed-away lifestyle.
The unemployed aren't just wooden objects on the Ouija board of life, though it can feel like you have reached the Hotel California where your nightmare of getting into the lobby and then never finding the door out plays over and over again in your life. We are humans, needing company, needing others to believe in us when we stop believing in us, needing cups of coffee bought by employed friends who still love us, needing emails and hallmark cards and most of all needing contact with other humans. We need hellos. Yes, it is a big job and you are just the person who could make a difference for someone struggling to find meaningful work. Call the Coast Guard, send the card, write the email every week, call, text, whatever. Walk in our shoes. Don't forget us.
And so it is that I am remembering my friend Ms. P. on the eve of my friend's memorial tomorrow, I remember her and all that she shared in her life to teach others and share her passion of directing us all to higher peaks from which she viewed life. Ms. P. died on 6/21/11 and I was able to wave hello and goodbye from the doorway. I did so in my inner language which she understood so well. I shall miss her forever and a day. Tomorrow we shall commemorate her life and we shall be saying goodbye in any language. May the "road rise with you" Ms. P.
I am no "Intruder In The Surf" (http://surfandthefury.blogspot.com/2011_03_01_archive.html) but rather a human trying to wash my sins away in the salty brine of the great sea's energy. My "friends" and family seem to have scattered and though it has been shocking to feel what it feels like when people admire your courage, watch you on your raft floating on the water and don't call the Coast Guard, it is the reality. People have things to do and places to go, don't they? The last thing they want is an unemployed person dragging them down. How many of us are feeling this on this Friday in July, 2011?
A frank discussion yesterday with my interviewer about euthanasia led to a new understanding for me about how animal shelters decide who stays and who goes. For them they must make these decisions which we would rather not know and for which we would rather objectify them in very, very harsh terms. They are out gatekeepers though and we ask them to illuminate the exit sign for so many animals that we selfishly create and then abandon. Most people won't even tell us that they are leaving us behind although we know it before we are left standing in the wake of their SUV-iPhone-run-you-down-in-the crosswalk-while I speed-away lifestyle.
The unemployed aren't just wooden objects on the Ouija board of life, though it can feel like you have reached the Hotel California where your nightmare of getting into the lobby and then never finding the door out plays over and over again in your life. We are humans, needing company, needing others to believe in us when we stop believing in us, needing cups of coffee bought by employed friends who still love us, needing emails and hallmark cards and most of all needing contact with other humans. We need hellos. Yes, it is a big job and you are just the person who could make a difference for someone struggling to find meaningful work. Call the Coast Guard, send the card, write the email every week, call, text, whatever. Walk in our shoes. Don't forget us.
And so it is that I am remembering my friend Ms. P. on the eve of my friend's memorial tomorrow, I remember her and all that she shared in her life to teach others and share her passion of directing us all to higher peaks from which she viewed life. Ms. P. died on 6/21/11 and I was able to wave hello and goodbye from the doorway. I did so in my inner language which she understood so well. I shall miss her forever and a day. Tomorrow we shall commemorate her life and we shall be saying goodbye in any language. May the "road rise with you" Ms. P.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Adrift in the job seeker life boat
Tea time somewhere in the world and make mine iced today. Coming down from an interview as it always seems with its strangeness, wonder, hopefulness, anxiety and calm. Yes, this time I was so much calmer. That was my goal today-to be more present and more calm. For me, the interview builds and I begin to feel tense and attached-so attached, to the outcome. If only this or if I only said that. This time, my goal was different and it felt like watching myself watch myself.
Something different too was that the interviewer was running late which put me in a chair by the window. The house cat, silky and jet black with those green, otherworldly eyes, came and sat on my lap for some time. He purred. I relaxed. He purred and the moment was right there brought to my small self. Maybe every employer should have a house cat so that we can all calm the you-know-what down.
And so I exited the interview feeling really good about myself and how I communicate what is so very hard to do. At times, it is as if the employer has already decided and your anxiety is better spent somewhere else. Today, 12 people were being interviewed for a 20 hour a week, temporary position. I am fortunate to have been given some air time and I am all too aware of that.
However, as I left, the next interviewee was someone with whom I crossed paths as a volunteer and who was laid off in the recent fiscal year, government trim. She is very qualified and dedicated. She never seemed to be open to me when I was a volunteer yet I smiled at her as I walked to my car. I turned in my thoughts and said a prayer for her. Rather, I asked the H/P to do what she could for this woman instead of myself. That is my form of prayer and I do so with the compassion that comes from being in the same life boat and wanting all of us to survive until we reach land. Good luck M., you deserve it!
Something different too was that the interviewer was running late which put me in a chair by the window. The house cat, silky and jet black with those green, otherworldly eyes, came and sat on my lap for some time. He purred. I relaxed. He purred and the moment was right there brought to my small self. Maybe every employer should have a house cat so that we can all calm the you-know-what down.
And so I exited the interview feeling really good about myself and how I communicate what is so very hard to do. At times, it is as if the employer has already decided and your anxiety is better spent somewhere else. Today, 12 people were being interviewed for a 20 hour a week, temporary position. I am fortunate to have been given some air time and I am all too aware of that.
However, as I left, the next interviewee was someone with whom I crossed paths as a volunteer and who was laid off in the recent fiscal year, government trim. She is very qualified and dedicated. She never seemed to be open to me when I was a volunteer yet I smiled at her as I walked to my car. I turned in my thoughts and said a prayer for her. Rather, I asked the H/P to do what she could for this woman instead of myself. That is my form of prayer and I do so with the compassion that comes from being in the same life boat and wanting all of us to survive until we reach land. Good luck M., you deserve it!
Leaving Louisiana in the broad daylight
This morning feels a bit blank right now, getting ready to walk the Greyhounds. They know my habits as much as I know theirs. We are a pack. 10,000 people applied for "joblessness benefits" so says the news and it seems like such a disconnected plunk of an idea in a very, very big pond. For most people rushing off to work this morning, it doesn't even register. Nothing. They feel nothing for the rest of us who try to figure out where we belong.
I feel tired today of the drudge, the search, the constant push to innovate in order to sell those qualities that I hold dear within myself, to make a dent in the world, to get an interviewer's attention and to move onward towards the future. I work on staying positive and directed. It feels exhausting sometimes. It feels disheartening and at the same time hopeful. It feels like your mind is split between opposing forces and you are right in the middle.
For me, this is where I am in life. I yearn to stand inside of the wish that I have to work in a bright, lovely, focused, enervated and positive environment. I yearn to be of service with a big smile that is genuine and encouraging because I care about you. It is real for me. I yearn for the very thing that I cannot make any headway into and how many of us are there out there? Some of us are hopeless, destitute, dismissed and frantic. That is not my story today. For them, I send my compassion and understanding. I am here, I am here.
Strange morning music plays in my head as the coffee takes effect and I often imagine that some inner D.J. is spinning the tales. And so, this morning, Emmy Lou Harris is in my head singing about Leaving Louisiana. The dogs and I "suit up" for our creek walk with her words playing behind us in my mind, gleeful, funny and something about "....this is the story about how things go, round and around nobody knows...."
I feel tired today of the drudge, the search, the constant push to innovate in order to sell those qualities that I hold dear within myself, to make a dent in the world, to get an interviewer's attention and to move onward towards the future. I work on staying positive and directed. It feels exhausting sometimes. It feels disheartening and at the same time hopeful. It feels like your mind is split between opposing forces and you are right in the middle.
For me, this is where I am in life. I yearn to stand inside of the wish that I have to work in a bright, lovely, focused, enervated and positive environment. I yearn to be of service with a big smile that is genuine and encouraging because I care about you. It is real for me. I yearn for the very thing that I cannot make any headway into and how many of us are there out there? Some of us are hopeless, destitute, dismissed and frantic. That is not my story today. For them, I send my compassion and understanding. I am here, I am here.
Strange morning music plays in my head as the coffee takes effect and I often imagine that some inner D.J. is spinning the tales. And so, this morning, Emmy Lou Harris is in my head singing about Leaving Louisiana. The dogs and I "suit up" for our creek walk with her words playing behind us in my mind, gleeful, funny and something about "....this is the story about how things go, round and around nobody knows...."
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Idealism and The Dancing Carrot
Another cool summer morning and the three Greyhounds and I met all the regulars on our creek walk. We see the same folks, exchange morning greetings and I get that small town feeling others might be having somewhere out there where people actually care about their neighbors.
These are my neighbors and I don't know their names or dreams or travails or prejudices. It is a faux kind of small town feeling. I began to experience this strange passage as I started walking the dogs since I have no job since October. A petite woman walking three big Greyhounds is not something that can be overlooked, and so we make an impression. They do too. They just don't know it.
This small town music that plays for me, the idea of belonging and being cared about by those around me, the smell of cool, damp mornings along the creek walk, the man in the suspenders who always has a big smile for me and the desire to matter is ever present. This feeling is the small flame in a really big torch. Is it idealistic to think that we matter to others?
Idealism is something that a store manager in early October, 2010 inferred would be my downfall. He felt that the employees would disappoint me because I was too idealistic about the store. I have a very different view of what happened. Of course I do. This is, after all, my blog not his.
It seemed from the moment I stepped behind the meat counter, I was destined to fail. It seemed that the supervisor was determined to make it so. Who knows what was going on in his human pencil brain. He barked orders and concealed his intentions behind an aloof, clipped speech manner. I had never made deli sandwiches and I never will again. I was astonished at my inability to get beyond handling deli meat even with gloves on my hands. I changed my gloves repeatedly as I had been trained. A few others did. Some did not.
The amount of food and effluvia on the floor behind the counter is enough to make anyone not want a sandwich made for them. I have never returned to that deli because of what I know is on the floor. I understand from others who have worked in deli's, that is standard in a deli. And so you can call it idealism if you want to qualify my failure in the deli as my fault alone. For me, the dream of working as a Produce clerk, the penchant I have for fruits and vegetables as the substance of my vegetarian diet, was juxtaposed with my desire to come to work for a national, health food chain. I compromised my dream because there was no other offer. I could not get them to consider me for the very position I qualify for stocking produce. Deli was all they ever offered.
I still have the dream of working in the Produce department of a local store, greeting the same customers who are part of my neighborhood and my community. It isn't as far fetched as it once seemed to feel that connectedness to others yet it seems to be getting farther and farther away from here. The idealism of The Dancing Carrot may seem a bit childlike or unforgiving but really, it is about holding true to oneself regardless of the pitfalls and obstacles that employers place before us. They call the shots to be sure and they get to. However, no one can sully your dream if you don't let them. The Dancing Carrot lives. Long live the The Dancing Carrot.
These are my neighbors and I don't know their names or dreams or travails or prejudices. It is a faux kind of small town feeling. I began to experience this strange passage as I started walking the dogs since I have no job since October. A petite woman walking three big Greyhounds is not something that can be overlooked, and so we make an impression. They do too. They just don't know it.
This small town music that plays for me, the idea of belonging and being cared about by those around me, the smell of cool, damp mornings along the creek walk, the man in the suspenders who always has a big smile for me and the desire to matter is ever present. This feeling is the small flame in a really big torch. Is it idealistic to think that we matter to others?
Idealism is something that a store manager in early October, 2010 inferred would be my downfall. He felt that the employees would disappoint me because I was too idealistic about the store. I have a very different view of what happened. Of course I do. This is, after all, my blog not his.
It seemed from the moment I stepped behind the meat counter, I was destined to fail. It seemed that the supervisor was determined to make it so. Who knows what was going on in his human pencil brain. He barked orders and concealed his intentions behind an aloof, clipped speech manner. I had never made deli sandwiches and I never will again. I was astonished at my inability to get beyond handling deli meat even with gloves on my hands. I changed my gloves repeatedly as I had been trained. A few others did. Some did not.
The amount of food and effluvia on the floor behind the counter is enough to make anyone not want a sandwich made for them. I have never returned to that deli because of what I know is on the floor. I understand from others who have worked in deli's, that is standard in a deli. And so you can call it idealism if you want to qualify my failure in the deli as my fault alone. For me, the dream of working as a Produce clerk, the penchant I have for fruits and vegetables as the substance of my vegetarian diet, was juxtaposed with my desire to come to work for a national, health food chain. I compromised my dream because there was no other offer. I could not get them to consider me for the very position I qualify for stocking produce. Deli was all they ever offered.
I still have the dream of working in the Produce department of a local store, greeting the same customers who are part of my neighborhood and my community. It isn't as far fetched as it once seemed to feel that connectedness to others yet it seems to be getting farther and farther away from here. The idealism of The Dancing Carrot may seem a bit childlike or unforgiving but really, it is about holding true to oneself regardless of the pitfalls and obstacles that employers place before us. They call the shots to be sure and they get to. However, no one can sully your dream if you don't let them. The Dancing Carrot lives. Long live the The Dancing Carrot.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
TwoFace......
Sometimes at the end of the day, after dinner for all of the sentient beings in our house, I do some tallying of the day's job prospectives. For many of us, this is the way our days fade into night. For me, the sunset, lately so almost Thomas Kincaid, has been clear, faint pastels, even here in my hometown. We don't have a view, and I can enjoy the sky just the same.
Sometimes, for weeks on end, there are no jobs to apply for that seem like a remote match at all. The winter months were like that and it was a very, very difficult time. I am uncertain if there will be another winter like that. It is possible. This week has been bleak as well and yet the sunny skies help a job seeker to keep the faith, have hope, stoke the fires of the heart, turn it over, weather the storm. You get the idea. Looking for work and living, still living and thriving as much as one can, has become such a disconnect from others. The world seems to feel fine about that too.
"Social Media" has only shoved a wedge between us though many folks that I know carry their iPhone's around like some kind of talisman. Our widgets have given us a false sense of security and filled in the spaces around us where our brethren once stood. It is so much easier to check the eternal box when we don't have to tell someone what we really feel. For me, this blog is as much about our culture of separation as it is about finding work.
Websites are now used by employers in order to funnel resumes and not-so-politely dismiss the work histories of thousands of humans in our device ruled world. The method used to apply for jobs is almost exclusively through the Internet. So often, a computer delivers the bad news of not being chosen so that people don't have to do the dirty work. A job seeker doesn't get a chance to find out why they were not chosen or what skills may be helpful to expand next time.
In fact, most employers would prefer that a screening company and their computer network, let you know that they " have reviewed your submission and have decided to continue to pursue other applicants for this position." It makes me want to click my heels three times because this sure isn't anything like Kansas. Be sure to check out my profile on the new anti-social media network, TwoFace.
Sometimes, for weeks on end, there are no jobs to apply for that seem like a remote match at all. The winter months were like that and it was a very, very difficult time. I am uncertain if there will be another winter like that. It is possible. This week has been bleak as well and yet the sunny skies help a job seeker to keep the faith, have hope, stoke the fires of the heart, turn it over, weather the storm. You get the idea. Looking for work and living, still living and thriving as much as one can, has become such a disconnect from others. The world seems to feel fine about that too.
"Social Media" has only shoved a wedge between us though many folks that I know carry their iPhone's around like some kind of talisman. Our widgets have given us a false sense of security and filled in the spaces around us where our brethren once stood. It is so much easier to check the eternal box when we don't have to tell someone what we really feel. For me, this blog is as much about our culture of separation as it is about finding work.
Websites are now used by employers in order to funnel resumes and not-so-politely dismiss the work histories of thousands of humans in our device ruled world. The method used to apply for jobs is almost exclusively through the Internet. So often, a computer delivers the bad news of not being chosen so that people don't have to do the dirty work. A job seeker doesn't get a chance to find out why they were not chosen or what skills may be helpful to expand next time.
In fact, most employers would prefer that a screening company and their computer network, let you know that they " have reviewed your submission and have decided to continue to pursue other applicants for this position." It makes me want to click my heels three times because this sure isn't anything like Kansas. Be sure to check out my profile on the new anti-social media network, TwoFace.
Static in the frequency of life
Some mornings I awake with static in my thoughts as if my mind were stuck between stations and I hear a vague semblance of sound on each side of my brain. No, I am not hearing voices. This is the unsettled feeling that comes with not knowing which direction your life is taking. Truthfully, this is the way life is for us and we have a great illusion that our choices create control of our future. It is one of the Buddhist teachings, paraphrased here, that this is the great lie. Life is random enough without our fantasies and yet those dreams, hopes and creative images get us on through the trenches. Sometimes parts of them become the substance of our days. If so we are the fortunate ones.
And so this morning, having received a call for an interview on Thursday-way out of the blue, and having watched the movie Inside Job last night, and plenty of other interactions with people, questions on how I might improve my resume-this has never ever worked by the way, seeking a fourth volunteer position which seemed like a waste of time, looking for work yesterday and sleeping poorly, well the radio station has static. This is how it can be. Fretful, fearful, questioning, sad, hopeful, resigned, meaningful and sometimes angry. Becoming present includes static and also symphony.
I have now walked the dogs and watered in the now thriving garden. I have shifted the cacophony in my head and I am feeling more settled. The static has subsided and I am moving on into the day of looking for work and doing some more volunteer time out there in the world. I yearn to make a difference even in a small, steadfast manner. This is the best I can do right now and I am doing it. This is the journey of changing the frequency of my life.
And so this morning, having received a call for an interview on Thursday-way out of the blue, and having watched the movie Inside Job last night, and plenty of other interactions with people, questions on how I might improve my resume-this has never ever worked by the way, seeking a fourth volunteer position which seemed like a waste of time, looking for work yesterday and sleeping poorly, well the radio station has static. This is how it can be. Fretful, fearful, questioning, sad, hopeful, resigned, meaningful and sometimes angry. Becoming present includes static and also symphony.
I have now walked the dogs and watered in the now thriving garden. I have shifted the cacophony in my head and I am feeling more settled. The static has subsided and I am moving on into the day of looking for work and doing some more volunteer time out there in the world. I yearn to make a difference even in a small, steadfast manner. This is the best I can do right now and I am doing it. This is the journey of changing the frequency of my life.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Not exactly the New Yorker....
Home now and the girlfriend is tucked in bed for a nap, post op.
I just checked my email as I go off to the not-so-great Internet highway to look for work. Two new rejection emails from WF and one for tasks I easily and wholeheartedly perform at the Food Bank. I did receive a call from them for the second job and the caller asked several questions which I appear not to have answered sufficiently enough to warrant an interview. In fact, the caller laughed when I said that, at the time, I had applied 76 times.
What was so funny about that? Was it that I am so gullible to think that I shall ever have a chance with the sorority? Was it that anyone that tenacious has got to be really, really stupid? Ah, she has no clue. No clue about me. Actually, an employer that allows for a website that registers multiple applications for which they never respond to that kind of veracity has something missing. What is that missing thing(s)? You decide and be sure to let them know next time you spend $45 on a bag of groceries. Maybe they will laugh.
I just checked my email as I go off to the not-so-great Internet highway to look for work. Two new rejection emails from WF and one for tasks I easily and wholeheartedly perform at the Food Bank. I did receive a call from them for the second job and the caller asked several questions which I appear not to have answered sufficiently enough to warrant an interview. In fact, the caller laughed when I said that, at the time, I had applied 76 times.
What was so funny about that? Was it that I am so gullible to think that I shall ever have a chance with the sorority? Was it that anyone that tenacious has got to be really, really stupid? Ah, she has no clue. No clue about me. Actually, an employer that allows for a website that registers multiple applications for which they never respond to that kind of veracity has something missing. What is that missing thing(s)? You decide and be sure to let them know next time you spend $45 on a bag of groceries. Maybe they will laugh.
The Promise of the Day
I am up early today to help my girl get to her medical procedure, and I stepped outside as I always do. I look toward Annadel where the sun comes up every day. The birds are all a dither and having songs and twittering and bird stuff to say. It is the delicate part of the day where my life holds a promise of things to come. Right then, Texas was there in my morning. My family lives in Texas and I miss them every day. It is very different there, though Austin is a very special place in Texas. It is hot there right now-over a hundred every day. I don't know if the sun comes up golden and new and full of promise there and yet my heart is there seeking its home.
Austin has lots of jobs unlike what seems to be here to greet me on Monday morning. Maybe I should restate that. There are jobs here and I do not get responses and/or I do not get the attention I know is true to my character and my values. I am not valued in the manner to which I know I work. I am a focused maniac with a task and no employer seems to be moved by my suggestion of that level of enthusiasm. They want something else and they are keeping it a secret.
And so today begins, slowly at first, with the horizon beginning to pull back into the cool, clear morning here in Sonoma County and my hometown. It is going to be an extraordinarily beautiful day and the promise is there, in the wings, waiting for all of us. Let the day begin anew and may it hold special treats for all of us.
Austin has lots of jobs unlike what seems to be here to greet me on Monday morning. Maybe I should restate that. There are jobs here and I do not get responses and/or I do not get the attention I know is true to my character and my values. I am not valued in the manner to which I know I work. I am a focused maniac with a task and no employer seems to be moved by my suggestion of that level of enthusiasm. They want something else and they are keeping it a secret.
And so today begins, slowly at first, with the horizon beginning to pull back into the cool, clear morning here in Sonoma County and my hometown. It is going to be an extraordinarily beautiful day and the promise is there, in the wings, waiting for all of us. Let the day begin anew and may it hold special treats for all of us.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The birth of meaning
Today is my sister's birthday and she is what most people consider a lucky girl. She flew the not so friendly skies as they became, for over three decades, retiring more than a year ago. I remember many phone calls as she was in the van to the airport or walking on the jet bridge towards the plane, about to leave the country and so we would check in just in case. Just in case. A very frightening thought for me who is still so terrified to fly not to mention the thought of my sister dying at all.
And so as the years today feel like they sped by as I remember her first and last union strike and how proud I was of her walking the picket line. I remember our discussions later about the "scabs" and how those people walked back onto the planes after betraying their coworkers. I remember my sister's terrified and distraught phone message on 9/11 as I walked to my cubicle job for the government. I remember my sister's terror of returning to work after the trauma and deaths of 9/11. I remember how she tried to cope with the murders of her coworkers.
Most of all I remember how my sister became one of my heroes, attired in the dark blue uniform, flying hither and yon as the culture of our world began to change radically. Passengers became more and more tense and acted out on the flights, privileged, angry and edgy. The same thing began to happen to me at work, though it took the melting down of financial markets and truckloads upon truckloads of foreclosures to turn the public against my former profession. Still, the sea of humans on the planet began to gather arms, spew vindictive around them, approach those in helping professions with derision and hostility because they were stressed, disrespected, violated, cheated, slewed, broken and terrified. They fought back and I just wish it had been fruitful against the corrupt sources who created our demise not the fellow participants.
My sister "retired" and yet I know she would say those were such great years of working and playing. I know that for each of us, working without a net means different things. For her, there is a great freedom in not putting on that dark blue uniform and enacting the persona of a flight deck member. She is now walking the world and not constrained to the jet bridge. For me, there is little freedom in the untethered experience that I am having. Yet we are both, in our own way, searching for the birth of meaning. Happy Birthday Sister.
And so as the years today feel like they sped by as I remember her first and last union strike and how proud I was of her walking the picket line. I remember our discussions later about the "scabs" and how those people walked back onto the planes after betraying their coworkers. I remember my sister's terrified and distraught phone message on 9/11 as I walked to my cubicle job for the government. I remember my sister's terror of returning to work after the trauma and deaths of 9/11. I remember how she tried to cope with the murders of her coworkers.
Most of all I remember how my sister became one of my heroes, attired in the dark blue uniform, flying hither and yon as the culture of our world began to change radically. Passengers became more and more tense and acted out on the flights, privileged, angry and edgy. The same thing began to happen to me at work, though it took the melting down of financial markets and truckloads upon truckloads of foreclosures to turn the public against my former profession. Still, the sea of humans on the planet began to gather arms, spew vindictive around them, approach those in helping professions with derision and hostility because they were stressed, disrespected, violated, cheated, slewed, broken and terrified. They fought back and I just wish it had been fruitful against the corrupt sources who created our demise not the fellow participants.
My sister "retired" and yet I know she would say those were such great years of working and playing. I know that for each of us, working without a net means different things. For her, there is a great freedom in not putting on that dark blue uniform and enacting the persona of a flight deck member. She is now walking the world and not constrained to the jet bridge. For me, there is little freedom in the untethered experience that I am having. Yet we are both, in our own way, searching for the birth of meaning. Happy Birthday Sister.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)