Saturday, July 30, 2011

The number 8 bus

My beloved is off riding her bike to Tomales today for a training ride.  I am staying behind to do some of the logistics for our brief trip to Big Sur.  I worry about her as she bikes along our idyllic yet dangerous roads without any shoulders, praying for generous country drivers and following the sport in which she loves to participate.  It is a gamble and I understand those kinds of choices.  In life we make them and some have much broader implications than we imagine.  We cannot know and that is the nature of life and life's choices.

Yesterday we moseyed to the fair and saw lots of incredible local art, ate some overpriced ice cream, people watched and rode the Ferris wheel.  We talked with an older woman from the Democratic party and as she ran her political ticker tape spiel by us, I mentioned my choice to leave my former profession.  I slid this fact into her monologue in order to stop the diatribe and try to bring something real into her passion for liberal politics.  However, when she mentioned that I was "brave," I recoiled.  Other people have said those very words.  Some I greatly admire but never worked alongside.  Those other folks remain at the place I left, still toiling away at something I stopped believing in last winter.

Life choices, my choices, present these dirt trails off into the brush, that we look towards and then move towards or away from and hope, always hope, it is the "right" choice.  Yet behind all that mind gymnastics is fear, and some sorrow about loss, regret, wisdom, excitement and courage.  I think courage is the kite tail for me.  The thing that boosts the decision.  And that doesn't mean that every moment is filled with courage.  I am out here, jobless and wondering if I shall ever work again.

So, when the Greyhounds and I are returning from our morning walk, along the bus route, and we see two older women running towards the bus that then drives past the bus stop and pulls towards the curb at an angle to stop for them. I feel myself come to the moment and smile.  We pause and watch.  The bus #8 doors open inward and the two women stop running and begin to climb the steps up into the bus.   I imagine them smiling at their good luck and I feel happy for them.  My faith in life's choices is restored, for the moment, and I realized it can happen that fast with something as simple as the route of number 8 bus and a choice.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Robots living their robot lives

 The dogs and I journey out on our morning walk earlier than usual and it seems as if the world has not come out of its' night into Friday yet. A few silent joggers and the fog.  We are lucky I think.  Texas is drying up like a 100 year old raisin.  The news shows parched earth in the lone star state that appears to be a dust bowl in the making.  And so our county cools rapidly at night which is what they say makes all that wine possible.  Our monoculture cross to bear.

The three Greyhounds and I cross paths with a group of turkeys who pause down at the creek walk, spying us with their side wise turkey eyes, to see if we are predators to scuttle hurriedly from or just wait.  We slow down across the bridge and they begin to slowly do their Turkey Qigong walk away from us.  The creek trickles.  The fog rests above us.  And there is peace all around us except in my head.

We do our sniffing and bodily fluid deposits and walk on back home after 20 minutes.  It is enough for the dogs and they seem to find something new and delightful each morning.  In fact, they must have it or there will be holes dug in the back yard or some kind of upset in the house.  It is their ritual and they must have it in  order to feel that everything is right in their world.  Such Zen beings I think.

As we come home across the church parking lot and onto our street, our neighbor, Mr. Cardio Stint Engineer, is hurrying off to work at his important job.  He is married to Mrs. Vogue model who cannot descend to acknowledge us when we pass on the street.  Maybe our baseness is catching somehow.  She is always expertly attired in her many costumes of life and bounces along walking her dog off leash as if she were doing a photo shoot right there on our street.  Mrs. Vogue model indeed.   We pause there at the curb and wave to Mr. Engineer who does not wave back.  We are hard to miss.  Three large Greyhounds and a tiny, tiny woman in an orange ball cap. 

I come into the door of our simple house here at the corner, dogs piling in with me, and I think that Mr. Engineer and Mrs. Vogue model would probably prefer a neighborhood of robots instead of the working and lower middle class neighbors that they have.  After all, robots living robot lives in their robot houses and driving off in their robot cars would never interrupt them with silly pleasantries.  Robots don't require so much upkeep and so they make really, really good neighbors.  TGIF world, here come the humans and a few robot wannabes.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

The Power of 8

Beginnings and endings can be awkward dalliances into places where we fear, retreat or come forward, posture, relish and connect right here at the heart.  I have been just that fortunate over the last eight weeks.  Eight women who came together every Thursday.  We did not know one another before we stepped into that room. 

And so was it that awe inspiring because it was a short time together and we had nothing to lose?  Was it that we were exactly the right mixture of heart, age, angst and tenacity?  Was it simply the way groups function in those eight weeks?  I think not. 

Our stories, all so diverse, yet painfully woven, came together in that room this Summer.  Grief, divorce, illness, confusion, unemployment, loneliness, regret and aspirations.  We spoke the truth of our lives in many voices and it was ours to bear, ours to hold delicately and ours to brandish like a bloody sword. 

I feel blessed to have shared some of my deepest wounds and my most fervent dreams with such wonderful, stalwart, strong, strong women. Thank you so much for being right there, right then. I carry you with me wherever I go drawing upon your great faces, your great strengths and your great sense of valor and honesty.  I bless you all for the gift you so generously bestowed upon me.  I am awestruck by your brilliance.  Shine on.

The Consolation Prize

I am having lots of negative thoughts this morning, trying to come to some peace about the various disappointments this week with jobs that I applied for or interviewed for or heard about or imagined.  What does it all really mean?  People have been a big part of the week's story too.  Old friends who seem clueless and newer friends who act out selfishly and strangely.  People often perplex me and it just might be my biggest dilemma in life.  Human intention is often cloaked in the folds of complex, sometimes dishonest, selfish and disjointed actions.  No kidding.

The day will shift and I shall move on.  However, I am tired of it.  Tired of the fight and tired of people in my life acting as if the fulfillment of their own desires is the sole purpose of their life.  No kidding. One old friend "schedules" her social time as if they were hair appointments, striving for the largest fun factor possible.  Weekend after weekend after weekend, "booked" is what she calls it.  No kidding.  Recently we were invited to join one of these "bookings" when one of the couples bailed.  We were offered the consolation prize of being able to step in as understudies.  Wow, enthralling. Sign me up.  Not.

Aside from all of the obtuse, frenetic, middle school drama that seems to go on around me with other people, I feel disconnected from others when no depth of human interactions is possible.  Coupled with an inability to find work, the Summer begins to rapidly tilt towards the edge of Fall.  And so, I am off to have some adventures, meet new people and hopefully leave the consolation prize to someone who will accept crumbs. 

It is tricky.  One must acknowledge that chicken scratch is what is offered, have your feelings about it, maybe walk the bottom of the trench for a while thinking about it, and then climb back out and head on out.  Keep the faith, walk down a different street, run, swim, get on an airplane.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Forrest Gump's lessons

A temperate, Sonoma County day here has held some lessons worth fighting for in this life.  They seem to come when I am just going about my business or trying to have some business somewhere, out there with my energy and my devotion.  Sometimes it comes at the gym of all places.  Several people there have revealed very personal stories to me in our passages at what seems like an impersonal, though very friendly domain. 

This has always happened to me and I am always surprised by the trust others bestow in my direction.  For me, I do feel a bit like Forrest Gump traveling around the globe and ending up with famous people that I am standing next to briefly.  To me, these genuine, honest, sometimes sad stories are the guts of life itself.  Moments where something real comes to life.

And so it was that a woman we shall call Ms. C.C. told me a story of coming to California in 1999 and cleaning houses in order to make some money.  She was in our not-so-golden state without permission and did not speak English.  She and her daughter cleaned houses for some of the wealthy people of Sonoma County and a few never paid her for her work.  They disappeared while she was toiling away in their mansion saying they would be back with her lunch or meet her at day's end for a switch of the key and payment.  They never showed nor returned her calls.  Thankfully, she says, most people were very, very nice to her and that is just like her to say that.

These days she strings together a living with several part-time jobs.  She is one of those people who are always smiling, positive and upbeat.  I have often asked her how she does it.  She says she is "just that way." We talked more about being out of work and hoping for something and it doesn't come along.  We talked about what it is like to try to survive. Ms. C.C. is more than a survivor and it shows every week that I pass her at the gym.  She is a beacon, a human energy hot spot, a house cleaner and a real life hero.

I can imagine Forrest Gump  standing there next to her grinning ear to ear and saying something about Mama and the box of chocolates.   For me, it was a few moments of stories that reflect the tenacity of the human spirit that we all need to hear when we doubt our decisions.  For me, I needed the lesson when I was not looking for it. I won't forget any time soon that I am fortunate to not have to travel to Mexico illegally to look for work and not have any power when the wealthy woman behind the job doesn't pay me.

Trained monkeys picking coffee beans.

Yes means yes and no means no.  Sort of.  Well, not exactly. It has not really been a banner week for me though the beautiful place in which I live thrives at this time of year.  The County fair starts today too.  I love that.  Actually, I applied for a job there this year.  Something new for me.  They never responded.  Yes, there it is again.

Last night, an actual response to my interview last week came via email and I did not make it to the finals.  Though I had told myself I let it go as I walked to my car that day, and I did, the rejection was difficult to take.  For me, there have been so many in the last almost nine months.  The no of a non-response and the no we are choosing someone else are almost equally as difficult.  For me, weathering all of this turns me inside out.  I must see if my thoughts match my actions.  How can I improve my outlook or adjust to the world as it is?  How can I accept the no when it really flies home to my heart? I found it difficult to just receive yet another clamped down, gate slammed shut, rebuff that leaves me standing there in the road smelling everything burning around me.  My California. 

Each time I take in, absorb and return to the source of myself, here inside this small frame, I encounter the risk of being unemployed and what that does to your self image.  There is no one to help us out of this one.  What it feels like is almost impossible to show you and yet, imagine this next scenario. 

Imagine that you are newly single and you search for nine months, without fail, through ups and downs of your questioning of how you might improve to become more attractive to others and continuously you receive rejections over and over and over again.  Do you keep telling yourself that all it will take is someone seeing who you really are and welcoming you home?  Do you give yourself messages throughout the day that you are kind, loving, attractive and generous?  Or do you simply give up and join a cult, realizing that no one is going to get it.

OK, no cults for me.  However, when no comes home this many times, you think of moving somewhere else where things are thriving and fruitful.  Is there any place like that left?  Maybe the trained monkeys picking coffee beans in the mountains have a place for me.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Hope is a thing with feathers and claws

The new norm, though many of you who are right now bustling around at your workplace won't ever know what this feels like, is the non-response.  It is as if the world has adopted the ultimate dysfunctional  method of conveying the obviousness of their reply.  Nothing.  For those of us trying to move forward and connect, belong and plan for our futures, although our control of it is a moot point in life as we are in the valley of out-of-control and then some, it feels like the claws of something huge has us by the shoulders and is dragging us across the landscape. 

Nothingness can feel palpable and it does.  How do we explain this to you? As if our hope had become our downfall.  Now tell me that isn't so.  And yet, it feels as if the minute I have a hope for my future, a brightness in applying for a job that holds the promise of opening up into challenges, rewarding moments, purpose and maybe even riding my bike to work becomes my nemesis. 

The trench as wave experts report, on the other side of this freak wave of hope, is immense and dangerous. We shall surf up to the lip of this rogue wave only to find that the other side will drown us for sure. For me, Emily Dickinson may have thought that "Hope is a thing with feathers," but she apparently did not know that thing had claws too.

Monday, July 25, 2011

What goes around

A brief foray into the ocean this morning with other seekers created some relief from the doldrums of another week looking for work that has yet to arrive.  Will it? We cannot often know what is in store for us.  Actually, we only imagine it is in the hands of something larger than ourselves and when something random strikes us as premeditated by a power greater than ourselves, we think it is destined.  I am not so sure about that.

For me, I attempt to find the place of grace where loving kindness towards others becomes more natural.  The ocean, its' random seeming waves wide open to the sea this summer mirrors how life has come to seem to me.  Sometimes just arriving in the water after so many in our group have challenges real and self-created, can be a miracle in itself. We are a fractious group of body boarders.

Another friend who is within a few years of my age talks to me about the black hole into which are resumes descend.  Another application.  Another trail of nothing.  And so we bob in the water together and attempt to lose our blues.  The ocean brings a person right present and the energy of all that surf helps to cast our fates beyond the breakers. 

Onward towards the afternoon, I have looked through today's job prospects-we should call them something much more honest-and applied for one, sole job.  This is how the summer has transpired.  I refuse to let it break me and I shall continue to play in the surf when I can, knowing that what goes around will one day, come back around.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Not waiting for Monday

For those of us who cannot seem to make a beginning these days, this summer, this year when we hope for a change in our lives that includes a job and a paycheck to attend our efforts, some chance to put ourselves forward into the stream that seems to ebb below the surface of each week that carries everyone else down the river of life.  For those of us who cannot seem to get any, albeit very little, recognition of our skills, our energy and our selves in the work world, Monday looms.  It can if you are waiting for an answer from the world that never seems to call. It can seem like a very cruel joke.  It is, at least, an unfeeling response.  I don't feel or imagine it is about deserving but it is about being chosen.  For me, this is a very slippery slope.  To feel solid about oneself when all around you other people are getting ready to go to a party that you were not invited to and won't be, begins with strength of character. 

So today, as Monday looms, and the week fans out like a gambler's hand secreted close to the body, I have places to volunteer, some home projects, some life projects and I still have hope that an answer or several will emerge from the bracken.  However, I am doing most of this life without waiting.  I am moving on regardless of the lack of response to my resume or applications.  I hold the line and seek, apply and send my request into the unknown but I don't wait.  I plan and volunteer and move in my life.  This is not easy.  This does not mean I don't ever worry.  This is not some kind of Zen fearless zone.  This is living and being and hoping that one day "Peter" will arrive in town and hold interviews.  This is doing my best to believe in myself and my goals.  Not waiting for Monday is a job in itself. 

For today, we will go hiking in one of our most beloved places, cast a view towards Jenner and eat some home packed lunch.  It is that easy today.  Tomorrow will be a bit harder.  Tomorrow is Monday.