Every Day is Saturday

Finding Joy in the Here and Now

Apr 1

What Do I Want?

by Every Day is Saturday

Happiness_Joey

What Do I Want?

What a question. What a provocative, dangerous, hopeful, angst-ridden question. A question that I don’t ask myself very often. Even as I have gone about the business of figuring out my life and my work over the last few years I still hesitate. What if the answer comes back “Not this”? What if the answer would require me to stop what I’m doing and to put all of my energy into something totally different? What would I do then?

Lately I’ve been experiencing some difficulties in my working life. These difficulties are not unexpected – or they shouldn’t be, anyway. There will always be bumps in the road, no matter what it is that you do. When it all calmed down I decided to ask myself the question: given this present turmoil, and the guarantee of future turmoil in my current line of work, “What do I want?” This is what I came up with:

I want to work with people I like and trust.

I want to write about things that are important to me.

I want to spend time with my family and friends.

I want to make enough money to not worry about paying the bills.

I want to enjoy my life.

I want to be a positive force in the world.

After I made this list I realized that I either already have everything I want or I am actively working to achieve it, and no amount of temporary insanity will change the path I’m on now. I know I can always do more – I can find new ways to spend time with the people I love, I can explore what it means to enjoy my life (which is not as easy as it may sound), and I can constantly pursue new ways of being a positive force, both big and small – but for the most part, I have everything on this list. I was surprised that it seemed so easily achievable, but then I remembered what I’ve been through to get here.

First, I had to lose a lot of what I thought I wanted in order to get to where I am now. Second, what I want has changed. I recently found a list of what I wanted that I had made not long after I was laid off. It was a list of professional goals, not personal ones, and the emphasis it placed on things outside of myself took me by surprise.

Is that what happens? If we don’t get what we think we want do we just change what we want to fit our circumstances? Is that a bad thing or a really smart thing?

I used to mark my happiness by the relative coolness of my job.  When I thought I didn’t have that anymore I had to reassess what made me happy. That’s when I realized (although I “knew” it) that you can’t get your happiness from temporary things. And jobs are temporary. People can be as well, so you have to be careful there. And money, while it undeniably makes life easier, does not make you happy.

When I look at what I used to want out of life – a high-status job, lots of money, exotic travel, and public recognition – I am struck by how differently I see my life now. Sure, I still get a little jealous when I hear about someone who seems to have some of the things I used to have (I will always want to travel), but I’ve learned not to compare my life to another person’s. There will always be someone who you look at and think “Wow, they’ve got it all!”, and there will always be someone who looks at you the same way. Nobody has it all. There is no such thing. We’re all on the same trip – we take different paths, but eventually we’re all going to wind up the same way, so there’s no sense in being envious of someone else. Nobody gets out alive, as they say.

Some people think that asking the question is selfish, that this life isn’t about what you want. I think it depends on how you look at it. Does “living right” require the sacrifice of my personal happiness? What’s wrong with wanting to be happy? If I’m happy, doesn’t it mean that I’m free to be a better person?

Someone told me once that happiness in this life isn’t a guarantee. Well, I think that’s a load of crap. What isn’t guaranteed is that you’ll have an easy life. There is no pass on tragedy or misfortune or loss. But if you can figure out how to be happy in spite of it, basically happy, then you’ve achieved something. I think it boils down to what you want. If you want permanent things, real things, then you have a much better chance of getting what you want, and therefore, being happy.

But be careful. Asking yourself what you want can lead you places you never thought you would go. If you ask, be prepared for the answer. If you don’t ask, you probably already know the answer is “Not this”. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Once you ask the question, the answer will haunt you until you do something about it. Believe me, I know.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

Photo by Amanda Taylor Brooks

 

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Mar 24

Change is Good?

by Every Day is Saturday

2009_0821Israel0097

Change is good, right? That’s what people say. “If you’re not changing you’re not growing.” “Don’t be afraid to relinquish who you were for who you might become.” All that stuff.

Well, I’m here to tell you I’m sick of it. My life has been nothing but constant change for years now, and there’s no sign of a change-free period any time soon. I have done my best to embrace all the changes, to be happy about them because I’ve always been told that it’s all for the best. Maybe one day it will be. Maybe one day I’ll look back on all this and laugh at my consternation and confusion and worry. But “one day” seems an awfully long way away and is no comfort to me right now whatsoever.

Something happened this past week that brought the state of my life into sharp focus.  A little over a week ago I was asked by some friends to stage manage a dance show. This is the first stage management gig I’ve done in years and years, and the first dance show I’ve ever done. I was nervous. I came into the process very late; I only got to see one rehearsal before we were in technical rehearsals (that’s where we go to the theatre and set up the lights and sound). The schedule was extremely compact and there were frayed nerves and people stressing out about getting it all done.

But get it done we did, and the end result was beautiful – and I remembered how to be a stage manager. It all came back to me effortlessly, like breathing. I knew what to do and when to do it. I knew the language, and the rhythm. I knew what was expected of me, and I gave it. I knew what was expected of the others around me. I had a place. I was home.

The difference between how I felt doing the show and how I feel about the rest of my life is night and day. I went to bed last night dreading having to face what was waiting for me this morning. Not because I dislike the work – not at all. I enjoy the work and my co-workers. It’s the uncertainty of it all that gets me down. We’re forging into brand new territory with our clients, and we (my co-workers and I) are trying to find a way through when there are no paths. We’re still figuring out how to work with each other, too, which makes me feel even less like I’m standing on solid ground.

I’m tired of it. I am so tired of not knowing from day to day what’s going to happen. I wish I could be that person who lives for change, for the unexpected, for the daily challenge of figuring out what’s going on and conquering it all. I’m not that person. I’m not a lot of things I thought I was, and the process of finding that out has been spectacularly painful.

This is what I have discovered:

  • I’m not extraordinarily self-confident. This was the biggest shock; I’ve always believed that I have a core of confidence that can’t be shaken.  Well, it’s been shaken. Badly. I am in the uncomfortable position of feeling like I don’t know what I’m doing at all, and it’s frightening.
  • I’m not impervious to slander. I used to think that other peoples’ bad opinion of me just rolled off me like water off a duck’s back, but I have recently been profoundly hurt by the betrayal of someone I thought I could trust.
  • I’m not a perfect judge of character. I tend to put on my rose-colored glasses when dealing with people, which leaves me open to the kind of betrayal I recently experienced.
  • I’m not as worldly or sophisticated as I once believed. I used to think I was good at navigating the complexities of modern life. Now I’m pretty sure I was just fooling myself.

So what does that leave me with? Have I been mistaken about who I am my whole adult life? Maybe. There are a few things I still believe are true:

  • I care about what I do.
  • I need solitude as much as I need the company of others.
  • There is an artist inside me struggling mightily to get out.
  • God loves me.
  • There are people in the world who love me.
  • There are people in the world that I love.

That’s all I can be sure of anymore.

There are no easy answers. There are no platitudes that can make this period in my life any less difficult than it is. Those catchy phrases are written by people who have lived through tough times and survived. I admit to looking for wisdom and encouragement there myself; there’s nothing wrong with doing that. Maybe I’ll write one, too, when all this is over. But for now, as much as I’d like to just go back to bed, I won’t – but don’t ask me to be happy about it.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

Photo by Amanda Taylor Brooks

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Mar 11

Born Bold

by Every Day is Saturday

boldness

I should know better than to go posting quotes on Facebook without doing my homework first. I keep finding out afterwards that something isn’t right about the quote – either it’s been misattributed, or the wording is off, or something. Last week I posted this jewel:

“Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid.” Goethe.

It’s a great quote, but I’ve since discovered (by actually taking the time to find out) that neither the wording nor this author is correct. This is the real quote:

“Go at it boldly, and you’ll find unexpected forces closing round you and coming to your aid.”

This sounds more to me like a cast-off tag line for “Star Trek” than something meant to move people to boldness. It was written by a Canadian-born clergyman named William Benjamin Basil King. I’ve never heard of him, and no wonder – apparently somebody (or a bunch of somebodies) thought the idea of this quote was too good to allow it to be ascribed to some guy no one ever heard of, so he/she/they re-wrote it and told the world Goethe said it. I understand why people would believe that – after all, it does sound like something Goethe might say. And “mighty” is a much more exciting word than “unexpected”, so you really can’t blame them for changing it.

Regardless of who said it, or what the specific words are, the meaning is still the same which is what attracted me to the quote in the first place. The idea that taking bold action will be rewarded by help from invisible forces is extremely compelling. It’s not a new idea – I think we all on some level or another want to believe that courageously standing up for a righteous cause or striking out on our own in a new direction is worthy of cosmic assistance. Our mythology is rife with stories of the supernatural help available to anyone who chooses courage over fear or faith over disbelief. This is demonstrated in one of my favorite movie quotes of all time, spoken by Yoda the Jedi master in Star Wars V: The Empire Strikes Back. You remember the scene: Luke Skywalker attempts to lift his ship out of the bog into which it has sunk by using the power of the Force, and is unable to do it. Yoda steps up and raises his hand; soon the ship rises out of the water and floats over their heads to settle lightly on dry ground. Luke is stunned. He says to Yoda “I can’t believe it.” Yoda replies “That is why you fail.” The message is clear – mystical power is available, but to get it you have to have courage and complete faith. In other words, you have to be bold.

There’s so much talk now about how you shouldn’t tell a girl she’s bossy, and that if a boy acted the way a “bossy” girl did we’d say he’s exhibiting leadership qualities. Well, as a bossy girl, I’m here to tell you that I hated being called bossy, and because I hated it, I tried to modify my behavior to be what other people seemed to expect me to be. I say I tried – I don’t think I was all that successful (my friends are laughing right now because they know I wasn’t). But even though I couldn’t achieve a convincingly demure exterior doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a mark on me. It did. When I was young I learned that being bossy isn’t an attractive thing for a girl to be. Boys don’t like bossy girls (not to have as their girlfriends anyway) and girls don’t like bossy girls (for any number of reasons). So I learned to be ashamed of who I was. Eventually I figured out that being “bossy” isn’t the same as being bold. You can be bossy without being bold, and you can be bold without being bossy.

Bossy is telling people what to do; it is out front, taking charge. Bold is walking your own path, whether anyone comes with you or not. Bold is looking your fear in the face and saying “I’m still afraid of you, but I’m doing this anyway.” Bold is being who you are, no matter what people think. Bold is embracing your whole personality, not just the bits you like. Bold isn’t rude or pushy – it’s a quiet thing, because by its nature it doesn’t need acknowledgement or approbation.

I was born bold – I just haven’t always thought I should be. I thought I needed permission (from whom I can’t tell you) to be all of myself. I thought I shouldn’t revel in the fabulousness that is me, or if it did, I thought I had to feel embarrassed about it. I’ve spent a lot of my life making myself smaller in order to fit into someone else’s idea of me. We all do it, but women do it more because that’s what we’ve been told we’re supposed to do. “You’re too loud,” “You’re too dramatic”, “You make me nervous.” When someone said those things to me I wish I had had the boldness to reply “Sounds like your problem, sweetheart, not mine.” I wish.

There’s a risk to being bold. You may lose your friends (or people you thought were your friends). People may say mean things about you, or to you. They did to me. They still do, sometimes. But I promise you, if you are bold, if you give yourself permission to be amazing, then mighty, mighty forces will rise up to aid you. And you will, by your example, give others permission to be bold themselves. And the world will be a better place.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: curiousyellow via photopin cc

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Mar 7

Requiem for my Car, Taken Too Soon

by Every Day is Saturday

Snowmobile

My friend, I will miss you.

We only had ten years together.

One Hundred Eighteen Thousand miles wasn’t enough.

You had so many more miles to give.

Your 5-star crash safety rating, traction control and anti-lock brakes made me feel safe.

Your sun roof kept me in touch with the beauty of nature.

Your 3-litre, V-6 engine made me feel powerful.

I felt sexy manipulating your 5-speed manual transmission.

I always enjoyed the Valet’s surprise when he delivered you to me –

The Girl who Drove a Stick Shift.

With you, I was hot.

With you, I was cool.

You were my confidant.

You listened patiently to me when I cried and prayed and sang.

You rejoiced with me and mourned with me.

You took me where I needed to go, and helped me find my wisdom along the way.

When I saw you for the last time today, I couldn’t help but reminisce.

I thought about our passengers; looking into the seat next to me, I could see them.

I thought about the music I blasted through your Bose speakers and smiled.

But when I hit your trunk release for the last time, I sobbed.

Goodbye, dearest friend. You will always be special to me.

There will be other cars, oh yes.

Fancier cars, maybe even faster ones.

But no one will replace you in my heart – the first car I truly chose for myself.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

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Mar 4

Happy Birthday

by Every Day is Saturday

birthday candles

One of my most enduring friends (that’s a nice way of saying “old” without making it sound like we are elderly, which we are not) had a birthday recently. By way of a birthday greeting she asked her friends to share a memory they have of her. I sat down to do that and realized that it would be more difficult than it had any right to be.

I thought about when we knew each other in high school; we had many activities in common so we spent a lot of time together. We performed in plays together, and we both sang in the chorus. We lived not too far from each other so there was much coming and going. We hung out at her place or mine. We went shopping and to the movies together. I remember talking and laughing and crying with her. I remember chorus retreats and play rehearsal. I remember sitting on her bed talking about boys. But none of these memories is sharp or distinct. That worried me for a while until I figured out why.

I think the reason (apart from my crappy memory anyway) is that this friend, unlike so many others, never hurt me. She never lied to me, or treated me badly, or talked about me behind my back. She never once caused me pain or disappointed me. The times I remember most from those years seem to either involve a boy I was interested in or a girl who had done me wrong. It seems that those memories are the only ones still sharp in my mind. I suppose what they say is true, that you remember things more if they involve great emotion. In my case I can clearly recall situations where I was hurt, or betrayed, or embarrassed. Those come easily to mind even though they are the events I’d much rather forget. But that’s how it works I guess.

The flip side of that, though, is that the memories I have of my friend are so totally intertwined with everything to do with who I was and the things that happened that I can’t separate her from them. She was, and is, a part of me in a very fundamental way. She is woven into the fabric of my past so completely that her bright thread can be found everywhere I look. For those years in high school, and for most of the years between then and now, she is always with me as I continue to shuttle and bob my way through life.

So, my friend, this is my gift to you. You are not just a moment in time to me, you are all the good things I remember, and it is my sincerest wish that our lives continue to weave together until we really are old friends. I love you. Happy Birthday!

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: jessica.diamond via photopin cc

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Feb 25

Showing Up

by Every Day is Saturday

typewriter

I’ve been reading a lot of books lately both by and about writers. A good friend recommended “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield to me some months ago in response to an entry in this very blog. I found a little book by Margaret Atwood titled “Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing” when I went looking for the Pressfield book. Last week I purchased Stephen King’s “On Writing” and finished it in one sitting. Each of these books has been revelatory in their own way, and each has helped me shape my thinking around what it means to be a writer. They have also shown me that the struggle I face is the same one every person who wants to be a writer faces at some point or another.

Mr. Pressfield talks about a force he calls “Resistance”; a natural force that actively works against us when we pursue our passions. Some might call this power self-destructiveness, some might call it evil, some might even ascribe its workings to those of Satan and his tempters – whatever you call it, the end result is the same, which is that a constant war is being waged against us when we strive to achieve something noble or purposeful in life. We meet no resistance if we choose to pursue activities that are not aimed at making the world a better place or creating beauty; that we can easily do. It’s only when we reach higher that we run into this Resistance.

Mr. Pressfield doesn’t try to explain why this happens; that’s something best left to theologians and philosophers. He knows it doesn’t matter why. The only thing that matters is that we recognize how Resistance works and we find ways to combat it. The one sure way he knows to fight it is to show up, every day, whether you feel like it or not.

Stephen King says much the same thing. His tenacity as a young writer was truly impressive; he kept at it and never lost his joy, even in the face of what others would consider to be overwhelming evidence that he was never going to make his living as a writer. He talks about his process as well as the process used by other writers. The thing they all have in common is that they keep showing up.

What do I mean by showing up? I mean just that – showing up and doing the work. Being counted as present. Having your mind and your body focused on the same task at the same time. Living on purpose. Not getting distracted. Not buying into all the excuses readily available that keep us from doing what we were meant to do – big excuses and little ones.

“I have a cold” is an excellent excuse to shut off my computer and go upstairs and take a nap. I’ve thought about doing just that at least a dozen times today, because I do have a cold. The truth is, I don’t really feel all that bad today. I did feel badly yesterday and spent most of the afternoon in bed. But today, Monday, I’m here. I’ve done the work I needed to do for the day, and I decided I would take a few minutes to work on my blog entry that I usually post on Tuesdays. As soon as I opened a new, blank document on my screen a little voice said “This can wait – you can do this tomorrow. Why don’t you go take a nap? All your other work is done; you deserve to take a break. You’ll feel better if you take a nap now. Don’t you have a conference call at 9:00 tonight? Go – it’ll be fine. You have a cold, after all!” I almost gave in to that voice, the voice of my Resistance. She’s good; she makes sense. She may even be right about some things sometimes. But she’s always on at me about how I deserve to “take a break”. That’s how she gets me, through my own sense of pride in what I’ve accomplished. Look at what I’ve done today! Isn’t that awesome! I deserve to knock off now and go watch some TV! I’ve earned it!

It is extremely difficult for me to persuade myself that I don’t deserve something I deem to be a “reward” for my hard work. To view “taking a break” as a negative thing when I’ve been going at it non-stop for hours. To convince myself to keep going when I believe I am entitled to shut down and goof off. But I see now what these writers are talking about – you have to keep going, even when you don’t want to. You can’t sit around waiting to be in the mood, or for your muse to show up, or for circumstances to be perfect. Stephen King wrote “Carrie” in the laundry room of a double-wide trailer on a typewriter he balanced on a child’s desk on his lap. I’ve told ten people that story since I read it because it just blows me away. That’s showing up. I don’t actually like Stephen King’s novels (I don’t enjoy horror as a genre – it scares me), but the guy knows how to write.

I feel like I’ve taken a good first step towards showing up every day. Months ago when I was contemplating starting this blog I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the commitment. What if I don’t know what to write about? What if I can’t post something every week? The thought of committing myself to a weekly deadline intimidated me and I almost didn’t do it. Obviously I changed my mind, because here we are nine months later, and I’m still going. The surprise to me has been that it hasn’t been as difficult as I had feared to banish the Resistance and file an entry every week. I’m encouraged by that.

I’ve started writing a novel based on events that happened in my own life many years ago. I’ve never made a serious attempt to write fiction, so it is even more intimidating to me than committing to this blog was. I’m finding that the writing is slow, almost painful; I’m reliving my life through the lives of the characters I’m creating, and it’s bringing up all sorts of deeply buried memories. I’m feeling a huge amount of Resistance to the work, and I’m giving in almost all the time. The battle is being fought every day. Most days I lose, but bit by bit I’m getting my feet under me. Everything I’ve read and everything I’ve discovered on my own tells me that the most effective weapon in the fight is just showing up. So, even when I don’t feel “ready”, I sit down at my computer and open the document. Almost fearing what I’ll find, I re-read a page or two to remind myself where I am. Next I think about the characters – who they are and what they want.

Then I close my eyes and start typing. That’s showing up.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: Jeremy Brooks via photopin cc

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Feb 18

Heart Full of Love

by Every Day is Saturday

Me & Tina 1985     Tina & Me 2-14

I had brunch today with someone I haven’t seen since high school. I considered us to be good friends back then, but we drifted apart pretty quickly when I left for college. After that our lives took off in different directions; in the intervening years when I would think of her I would think that we didn’t have much in common anymore, so it was easy for me to let her go. We had no contact at all until a few years ago, when, through the magic of Facebook, we were reunited. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that we became re-acquainted. I didn’t reach out to her, choosing instead to follow her life from a distance.

I felt very conflicted about my hesitation to re-connect. Part of me wanted to, but another part was unsure about what would happen. Here is a person with whom I had laughed and cried, shared secrets, sang, acted, hung out, celebrated, and commiserated, and yet I felt like we didn’t know each other anymore. What if she’s not interested in renewing our friendship? What if she’s not the person I remember? What if we have nothing to say to each other? I was afraid that if I did or said the wrong thing the possibility of getting my friend back would be gone forever. So I waited for the right opportunity. And it finally came today.

It’s an amazing thing to be with someone you haven’t seen since you were young. To look at them across a table with all the years you’ve lived separating you like a river, wide and deep. It took a little while (not long, but a little while) for us to find a comfortable rhythm for our conversation. I wasn’t surprised; even back in high school we had to make an effort to really communicate. I was sure at the time that it was because of my friend’s challenges with her family; her parents were severe with her (not abusive to my knowledge, but not loving, either), and she learned to protect herself. But even then she was willing to risk loving others. So, after a few minutes of “Do you remember?” the connection we once shared was re-established, and we started really talking.

My friend has had a hard life by anyone’s estimation. She wouldn’t mind me telling you about it but I won’t – it’s her story. Just know that I am amazed by her. She is one of the strongest, most resilient people I have ever known. She has faced down so many challenges in her life, mostly without help from anyone. I imagine many people would have given up and crawled into a hole if they had to face what she has in her life, but she didn’t. There she was today, eyes shining, sitting across from me and telling me about how excited and hopeful she is for the future. I am sure she will make her dreams come true – she just doesn’t ever give up.

I knew lots of people in high school, and I had a few really close friends, most of whom are still part of my life one way or another. I wasn’t sure if the bond I had with the friend I saw today was really still there, but not long after we sat down together it came flooding back. We talked and talked, and when it came time to leave we clung to each other and didn’t want to let go. It is such a gift to have had a chance to see her and to know that, even after all this time, we still want to be part of each other’s lives.

Love is what binds us together; it is the bridge that spans the unknown years between us. Don’t ever let go of the people you love if you can help it; in the end, love is the only thing that never dies. Everything changes except for the love you have for other people, and the love they feel for you. Cling to it.  Nurture it. Respect it. It will see you through your darkest hours and give you the only happiness worth having. This is the only thing I’m sure about.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

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Feb 11

My Secret Valentine’s Day Shame

by Every Day is Saturday

Valentine's Day

This secret shame has haunted me for years, but now I think I have the courage to confess it publicly. I know this will come as a shock to many of you, and for all the years I lived in denial about my true feelings, I am sorry. I can no longer pretend. I’m ready to admit it now.

I like Valentine’s Day.

Please don’t judge me too harshly, all of you who knew me from my college days when I protested against “V” Day. You know how passionately I defended those members of our society marginalized by this annual ritual of romantic love. You remember those February 14ths past when, in solidarity with my boyfriendless sisters, I dressed in black and donned my “No Hearts” armband and proudly announced my refusal to buy into the created-by-Hallmark-and-Whitman’s-and-FTD-glorification-of-fake-sentimentality. I mean, why do we need this holiday? Are we likely to forget to cherish the one we love if we’re not reminded once a year? Shouldn’t our significant others be taking us out for romantic dinners and buying us flowers and jewelry as a matter of course? Of course they should! Well, I wasn’t going to be taken in by this transparent attempt by corporate America to force people to spend their hard-earned money unnecessarily! No way!

Of course, my militant stance was buoyed by the fact I never seemed to have a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day either. Every February 14th I seemed to be between boyfriends – either because of a breakup just before, or a new relationship was just emerging and couldn’t stand up to the V-Day scrutiny, or I was just in a dry spell. I started to wonder if it wasn’t a plot by every would-be boyfriend to keep from having to buy me flowers – the timing was just a little too convenient. I mean, I had boyfriends at Christmases and on my birthdays. I had dates to all the important events in college – Inaugural, Homecoming, etc. Just never on Valentine’s Day. It really pissed me off. I remember sitting in the lobby of my dorm watching those long white boxes containing dozens of roses – white, yellow and red – come flooding in, carried by my boyfriended dorm mates or, (and this was almost too much to take), being delivered by a florist. Then I got to see the moment of arrival, when some giddy girl would open the box and wave the offering around the room to her admiring audience. Pretending to be happy for these girls (some of whom were my good friends on every other day of the year) was just too much, so I opted to boycott the whole thing.

I’ll fast forward through the years between college and my first date with my eventual husband (because nothing romantic of note happened – at least nothing I’m willing to share). It was early February 1995 when he finally asked me out. Valentine’s Day was the next week. Great, I thought, here we go again – boyfriend in sight but still no flowers for Amanda! And I was quite right; the whole candlelight dinner and box of chocolates thing was way too much pressure for a second date. I knew it, but I was disappointed nonetheless, and it didn’t do anything to change my attitude about “that stupid holiday”. As it turns out, though, that was the last February 14th that I would spend alone. Ever since, my wonderful, thoughtful, sweet husband has brought me flowers and a beautiful card and we have gone out to dinner at some lovely spot and celebrated our love to the full.

Oh the hypocrisy! Well, yes, you’re right, and at first I admit I felt badly about my shameless embrace of all things Valentine. But over the years I’ve come to look at it in a way that has given this annual money grab more substance.

Valentine’s Day isn’t like other kinds of non-religious occasions that center on human beings. Celebrating an anniversary is an acknowledgement that two people have managed to stay together for another year, which is no mean feat these days. Birthdays are the celebration of an individual life; the completion of another year and the looking forward to the next. But I’ve come to see Valentine’s Day as not being about the individuals involved. Instead, I think it’s about the third thing that exists when two people decide to commit themselves to each other – the relationship itself. As anyone who is or has been in a long-term relationship knows, the relationship has a life of its own that must be nurtured by the individuals involved. It has its own history. It exists both within you and apart from you, and sometimes in spite of you. It is a thing that should be acknowledged and protected if it is to survive. I talk about “my marriage” as if it is a living thing, separate from myself, and it is.

Now that I am in a committed, long-term relationship, I have come to view Valentine’s Day as more than just a commercially driven, shallow enterprise. I now see it as an opportunity to hold my relationship up to the light and admire it anew.  It is an opportunity for my husband and I to pay homage to this third entity that lives with us, the thing that over the years has come to be much greater than the sum of its parts. It isn’t about the flowers or the romantic dinner or the gifts – they are just the ritual sacrifices we offer to the god of Romance. Valentine’s Day is about celebrating the “Us” that is more than just “You” and “Me”.

My friends, I hope you will forgive me for my former hypocrisy and jealousy. I have mended my ways, and I now fully and joyfully engage in all the silliness and manufactured sentimentality that Valentine’s Day has to offer. So, what do my husband and I have planned for this year?  I don’t know, we haven’t talked about it yet. It’s this Friday, right? The restaurants are going to be mad houses . . . Ugh.

We’ll probably just stay home and watch a movie.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: Shenghung Lin via photopin cc

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Feb 4

The Less Fortunate

by Every Day is Saturday

soup kitchen square

Over the last few years I have experienced what I would consider to be a certain amount of financial hardship. At the time I was laid off three years ago I had been making a very good salary; so good that my husband and I paid all our bills with what I made, and what he brought home was just gravy. We always had money in the bank, and we never thought twice about buying a new pair of shoes or going on vacation. Since the layoff I’ve been striving to make a living as a self-employed person, which has meant that sometimes I bring in money but most of the time I don’t. It has been an eye-opening experience to find out how much we can live without, and we have. It’s been a very long time since I thoughtlessly purchased anything, and my stuff has been wearing out – I recently had to let go of two pairs of winter shoes because they finally lost their soles. Last year we got rid of our 14-year-old artificial Christmas tree because it was falling apart; I decided we could go ahead and throw it out because I was convinced that our financial situation would be significantly better this year and we would get a new one. It wasn’t. This year, instead of a big tree, I found a 3’ pre-lit tree one at Wal-Mart and bought some miniature ornaments to go on it. From now on I will always think of Christmas 2013 as the year of the Wee Tree.

I’m not telling you this so that you will feel sorry for me. I have been through phases when I felt very sorry for myself indeed, and I was angry that things weren’t happening for me when I was working so hard. I felt like I deserved better, and maybe I did. Maybe I do. I still go through times when the fear of not having the money to pay the bills almost overwhelms me, and I have to fight to shake it off. And sometimes something happens that slaps me upside the head, and I realize how stupid I’ve been.

One of those times happened about six months after I’d been laid off. I was at the grocery store one evening when I was approached by a woman with two little girls in tow. She told me her husband was in the hospital up the street, and her car had broken down. I expected her to ask me for money, but she didn’t.  She asked if I would buy her some peanut butter and bread so she could feed her children.

There’s no way this woman could have possibly known that I was unemployed and watching every penny, and for a split second I thought about telling her about my own troubles. I thought I would say “I’m so sorry you’re having a hard time; so am I” and explaining how I would love to help, but I couldn’t. I didn’t do that, though. I looked at that woman, so desperate that she had to beg for help from a stranger in the grocery store, and I was ashamed of my initial selfish reaction. I told her yes, I would buy some bread and peanut butter for her. When she met me in the checkout line she had added some cheap laundry detergent and a couple of Lunchables – items I had not agreed to purchase. She put them in my basket without looking at me; I’m sure she was afraid I would refuse her. It reminded me of a pet who has done something wrong and avoids catching their owner’s eye for fear of getting into trouble. It broke my heart to see a human being do the same thing.

I paid for her items without comment. When I handed the bags to her she said a very simple “thank you”, and left with her girls. As I walked to my car I saw her heading towards the hospital, weighed down by shopping bags and children. And of course in that moment I realized how very fortunate I was; my misfortune was nothing compared to that woman’s. I had a home to go to and a car to take me there and a healthy husband that shared my burdens. I had nothing to complain about.

I’ve had many ups and downs since that incident in the grocery store. I go through phases where I am so grateful for what I have it takes my breath away, and then I get caught up again in the stress and the worry. Not being able to replace things that have worn out or have broken, and not being able to do even the everyday things like get the oil changed in my car or have my hair done gets really, really old. Sometimes it gets to me. I’m human. I’m sure I’m not alone.

But then I go down to the soup kitchen and serve hot food to dozens of homeless men like I did today, and my perspective clears again. I look at them and wonder how they came to be where they are. Some are obviously dealing with mental and emotional challenges, but most of seem as aware of things as I am. I wonder what decisions they made, or what life circumstances happened to them to land them in front of me, asking for a third and fourth refill of their soup bowls. I wonder if this is the only meal they’ll have today.

Some of the men come prepared with containers to take soup away with them. One guy had a stainless steel kitchen canister, the kind you’d put sugar or flour in to sit on your counter. We filled another guy’s big plastic tupperware container; he said the soup was for his supper the next day. One man came up to the counter wrapped in a blanket; he was given a coat to wear before he left. Many of the men got pairs of thick socks, something we’re told is a vital need in the homeless community. Socks.  Think about that.

I’m not telling you all this so you’ll think I’m great for spending time at the soup kitchen. What I’m ashamed to tell you is that I seriously considered not going today. Why? Because my business has picked up suddenly and I’m busy. I had lots of things to get done today and I almost convinced myself that I didn’t have the time. That would have been a huge mistake.

I’ve finally realized that I’m not helping the poor people with whom I come into contact – they are helping me. I learn from their determination, their courage, their humility, and even from their willingness to be “served” by privileged people like myself. I imagine that sometimes they must feel like animals at the zoo to be gazed at and wondered about by the visitors who come for a time and then leave to go back to their comfortable middle class lives. Some of them smile at me with their eyes and tell me they are blessed when I say “How are you?”  I feel so inadequate to their need. I spoon out soup and try to treat them with dignity and respect while inevitably comparing my circumstances with theirs and feeling profoundly relieved I’m not them.

I know now that I need these opportunities to teach me what being “less fortunate” really means.  It has nothing to do with how much money I make. I need the example of these people who can smile in the face of their difficult lives to remind me that no matter what happens it is up to me to decide if I will respond to my own difficulties with anger or with acceptance. I need them to keep my vision focused on the world around me and not solely on myself. This is a lesson that I must constantly learn, and one that I am in danger of allowing myself to forget in my newfound business. I hope I don’t let that happen.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: Jeffrey Beall via photopin cc

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Jan 31

A Native Atlantan’s take on Snowpocalypse 2014 – What the Hell WAS that?

by Every Day is Saturday

Snowpocalypse 2014

Ladies and Gentlemen, I interrupt my usual week-between-the-blogs silence to bring you my thoughts about the colossal tragedy of errors that was Tuesday in Atlanta.

First let me say that I am very, very fortunate because I work from home, so I don’t have a harrowing story of survival to share. My husband was not quite as lucky, except that he was told to go home at 1:30 in the afternoon and just so happened to be able to exit the freeway at that moment.  It still took him two and a half hours to wind his way home, which I thought was bad until the stories on Facebook and on the news started flooding in, like what happened to my sister and her partner.  They were out running errands and were eating lunch when it started snowing.  They were eight miles from their house when they set off home. They arrived almost nine hours later, but at least they made it. The two strangers, friends-of-friends who they took in that night, did not. That unfortunate pair abandoned their car on a nearby freeway and hiked to my sister’s house where they got bourbon, a bed, and breakfast. Another friend wrecked his car and thought he would have to sleep on a city bus, but was driven home by a kind stranger in a heavy vehicle. Yet another friend drove hours to rescue her son who was stranded on his school bus, only to be forced to seek shelter with him at a grocery store before being taken in by a good Samaritan who lived nearby. And finally, a friend who had driven down from Canada spent seventeen hours in her car before being rescued; she was slightly more prepared than the average Atlantan, but it was a horrifying experience nonetheless. There are probably thousands of these stories, some that turned out well and others that ended in tragedy.  And here we are on Friday and there are still abandoned cars littering the roads and places where it is unsafe to drive – at least until the temperature climbs above freezing and stays there for a while.

I’ve been reading lots of articles that try to explain how all of this happened and who is to blame.  At first I was inclined to cut our government leaders some slack. This is Atlanta, after all, and if I had a nickel for the number of times we had been forecast to get snow and nothing happened, well, I’d have a few dollars. We just don’t believe it until we see it, and that goes for grandmas and governors alike. But the more I read about it, the more I thought, hey, it isn’t the government’s place to play Russian roulette with peoples’ safety – they should have closed the city schools and government offices all day Tuesday and encouraged employers and metro school districts to close as well. If they had done that I’m guessing that it still would have been bad (because most employers don’t care about their employees’ safety, not really), but we wouldn’t have had the total gridlock we saw.  But what we got from the Governor and Mayor was two days of them dancing around claiming that the response to the emergency was timely and vigorous, and that we couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen (which is a crock; all the local meteorologists including the Weather Channel had accurately predicted the storm as early as Sunday). Yes, it was clear that the Georgia Department of Transportation was trying desperately to get the icy roads treated, but by the time they were ordered out it was far too late. The damage was done because the freeways had become totally blocked within two hours of the first snowflake. The trucks couldn’t get through, and it just got worse and worse as the day and night went on. I’ve lived in this city almost my whole life, and I have never seen anything like this. The footage taken from the news helicopters made it look like CGI from an apocalypse movie.

But then we started hearing about acts of selflessness and heroism by ordinary people.  The woman who launched the Facebook page “Snowed Out Atlanta” should be given a medal – that page became a platform that put people in need together with people who could help, and I am sure it was responsible for saving lives that night. There were stories of people walking out onto the roads and freeways with food and water and hot chocolate. Men in four-wheel drive vehicles towed cars up icy hills and out of ditches. Kroger and Home Depot announced that they would keep their stores open to act as shelters for people who couldn’t get home.  I heard of many folks who found shelter and food at area Walgreens, QT and Publix stores, not to mention the gas stations. And the commitment of the school principals and teachers who stayed where they were in order to keep the children that were separated from their parents safe and calm is inspiring. It’s these stories that keep us going, the instinct we have to reach out and help each other in times of need. I was proud of my city, even as the rest of the country looked down on us for letting it happen in the first place.

Today’s headline in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution says “Governor Apologizes”.  In the accompanying article, Governor Deal says that in the future he would “take those weather warnings more seriously”, and they would “’err on the side of caution’, even if it leads to jabs that they overreacted.”  OK, so he’s admitting that he waited until he was sure that the storm was going to be bad before closing offices and sending out the sand trucks because he was afraid that if he had done it before the storm was predicted to start and there had been no storm, some people might have been upset that he overreacted and spent unnecessary millions of the state budget. Wow. This is the leader of my state. I find his lack of courage disturbing. And the mayor of Atlanta is no better – all he has done is become defensive instead of owning up to the fact that he could have spoken out and urged people not to come into the city on Tuesday, but he didn’t.  Instead, he was busy accepting an award as “Georgian of the Year”. Ouch.

So, what have we learned from this? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Here are my takeaways:

  • Our state and local government is short-sighted, greedy and incompetent (but we knew that already, so why are we surprised?).
  • Overreacting to predictions of inclement weather is ALWAYS a good idea.
  • The government is neither the problem nor the answer, and we need to stop treating them as if they are either or both.

My fellow Atlantans, let us take this opportunity to collectively tell those in authority to stuff it, and decide to take responsibility for ourselves and our families.  Let us vow to take the time to watch the weather reports to find out what we need to know, and act accordingly, regardless of what those in authority are saying (or not saying).  Let us stand up to the schools and businesses that value their calendars and profits more than the lives of their students and employees, because if we all agreed that we would in future refuse to drive to work and send our kids to school in the face of an oncoming storm they would have to concede to us.  We’re mad as hell, and we don’t have to take it anymore!  Are you with me??!!

Well, ok, maybe that’s a little over the top, but I’m sure that none of us who lived through this experience is keen to repeat it. And I truly don’t believe that our elected officials, any of them, are capable of fixing what needs to be fixed, either the ones in office now or pretty much anyone looking to get elected. The history of the lack of cooperation between the state, the city of Atlanta, the metro area counties and all of the smaller municipalities is decades old and bone deep. All of these groups are so heavily invested in protecting their own slice of the pie that they appear to be incapable of doing anything for the greater good of the region. And voters’ attitudes seem to only reinforce the situation (take the failure of the T-SPLOST effort last year that would have addressed some of out regional transportation problems).  Our only hope is in the kindness and generosity of ordinary people, which is sad and uplifting at the same time. But that’s the way it’s always been, and probably always will be.

Might as well accept it:  we’re on our own.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: William Brawley via photopin cc

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