The Narrative of Rejection

As a writer I should be comfortable with the idea of rejection. Yet somehow it always catches me, picks me up, and slams me on the floor. I lose my breath for a minute, or hour, before regaining consciousness. It is not the rejection per say, but the narrative that I create surrounding that rejection. I cannot simply accept the rejection as is, a statement that I would not fit into the environment in which I believed I would fit. I instead create the backstory, it is not only the employer, the publication, or the friend rejecting me, it is the greater community at large which does not feel as if I am worthy. I become the martyr in my own play, hated by all and on the path to ruin and homelessness. This narrative creation within my egomaniacal conscious mind can be harnessed for good as well as evil however. That backstory in which I recently indulged can be used as fodder for a short story. I can watch myself cycle through the stages of grief and rejection, of wallowing in self-pity and then meditate, have a smoothie, and sit down to write. I can cultivate gratitude for my amazing life, as it is at this very moment (minus the deer flies and humidity) and sit down to write a post. A close friend of mine says that "rejection is God's protection," and I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment (when I am not in the midst of being rejected). I have been ignoring that small voice inside that is telling me to write, to rest, to explore creativity, to pray, to hang upside down and then nap. I am attempting to fit my square pegged self into a round hole and wonder why I get stuck. So dear reader (or mom), I come to you rejected. But also relieved that the narrative did not play out, and that I can now head to Amazon.com and purchase a Gopro because I have an idea which is filling me with giddy anticipation. More on that soon!
 

Revising My Life

I just completed a workshop in which the first five pages of my young adult novel, were constructively critiqued by other writers (First Five Pages Blog). It was a valuable experience. I have never enjoyed revision; once I am done with a piece, and the novelty has worn off, it is time to move on to the next creative project. New projects induce fresh energy that accompanies the creative process.  But this process forced me to revise my writing, and by the end of the month long workshop and feedback from writers each week, I feel that my pages are stronger. I still have a slight revision to make and I look forward to it. In the process, my characters became real and well-rounded, and I am planning on a rewrite of the entire novel using the advice I received from my fellow attendees.

As with the creative process, asking for help with revising my personal life is difficult. Although I do know from experience that every time I ask for help and actually accept that help, my life changes in some small beautiful way. I am able to see certain things differently when they are explained by a trusted friend or advisor. I tend to have my own uniques view of the world, and it takes another person to help me to see other solutions, and to change my perceptions. Because it really does come down to perception. I have a perception of life that is unique to me. When I am reading the first pages of my novel, I see my character as I have imagine her, with all of her quirks and idiosyncrasies. Those quirks might not come clear on the page however, and it takes someone to read and give feedback in order for me to see what is missing. Same is true for many other issues including my recent job search. I had blinders on; the only jobs I could apply for were teaching jobs with a 20 mile radius of my house. Which, if you know where I live, doesn't really give me much to work with. So I asked for help, and I received valuable advice yet again from Hearn College and Career. I was given tools to work with that helped me to broaden my search to jobs with an education slant, as well as brush up on my networking skills. I was exposed to possibilities I would not have come up with on my own. I feel a greater sense of hope that I will eventually land where I am supposed to be.

As with my novel, my personal life needs constant revision. I need to be aware of problems that may arise and make the necessary changes in perception in order to stay in the flow of life. I am no longer that starry-eyed high school graduate with dreams of becoming a veterinarian. I am an English Teacher who writes, or possibly even a Writer who teaches English. Who knows what revisions the future may bring. 

Decorating the Hallway

When one door closes, another door opens, so they say. That in between time, the transition period is often alluded to as the hallway. I have been in the hallway for a few years now, picking up temporary jobs here and there and obtaining my Bachelor's and Master's degrees, I have come to think of the hallway as a permanent space, a long narrow room that is in desperate need of some decoration. Maybe what I keep calling a transition (it does seem as if I have been saying I am in transition for a long time now) is not really a transition at all, it is the resting place for the moment. I keep waiting for the full time job, the marriage, the (insert huge life event here) and completely ignore the fact that there is merit in a so-called transition. There is movement, I don't seem to stand still, I am actively searching, seeking, changing. When I am in the hallway, I am moving from once place to another, I do not get complacent, I don't take a seat on the couch, kick my feet up and fall asleep. In the hallway I am searching for that small beam of light signifying an open door. What is behind that door a mystery and  when I am in the hallway I am in the mystery. Why not make that mystery a bit more comfortable, maybe some pictures on the wall, a vase filled with Spring flowers, my favorites, daisies and sunflowers, maybe with a few sprigs of baby's breath and eucalyptus? I could paint the walls a sunny yellow, and enjoy my time here. Today is a beautiful day: the sun is shining; I am working a few hours; I have enough food in the refrigerator; I have a man who loves me and will take me to dinner later today; and I have a beautiful space in which to live. I need to steep myself in the mystery. Will I be teaching full time some day, or does God have something different in store for me? Just for today, this moment, I will enjoy the mystery of it. 

Skinny?

I was called skinny the other day. As someone who has always struggled with weight I wasn't sure whether to be happy or frustrated by a so-called compliment. I finally settled on frustrated. I have lost 20 pounds, but have worked my butt off by running and weight lifting. I have gained muscle mass. I would have rather been called fit, or strong. Weight has always been an issue for me, and I have been sensitive about my lack of, or abundance, for as long as I can remember.

When I was younger I participated in a gymnastics program. I worked on cartwheels, rolls, back bends and front walkovers. I wasn't built like a gymnast, but I had fun. Today in yoga class I remembered how flexible I was and how things have changed. Why did I ever stop, I muse. I know the reason, and today it seems pathetic, but it wasn't to my twelve-year-old self. Someone wondered how I could do gymnastics with my larger thighs. That was all it

took, I quit the next season and I spent the next years battling with body image, overeating and lack of exercise. Today I am 41; I run at least 5 miles a day, and with the recent addition of yoga, have begun to get my former flexibility back. It was just a few words, how could they be so powerful?

Words hurt and affect us in unimaginative ways. But in order for the words to hurt, we must allow them to. And if I am upset or elated by another's comment about my weight, it means that I am allowing another's opinion to become part of me; I become fat or skinny or scrawny or buxom. These are merely labels. When did our culture become so obsessed with the way a body appears? And why is it ok to comment about someone's body? When did the body become a commodity for consumption, the property of the public? Young women are forced to cover up in school, because it "distracts" the boys; mothers who breastfeed in public are shunned or shamed; advertisements with scantily clad women are plastered on park benches. We act as if, as a culture, we have a right to judge the bodies of others, whether the supermodel or the pregnant woman in the check out lane.

Did that person have a right to tell my 6th grade self that her thighs were too large to participate in gymnastics? Is it ok for people to comment on the weight I have lost or gained (I have had it both ways.) After all, both extremes take a lot of hard work. I don't know the answer, just for today I choose to wake up early and run, not because it will make me "skinny," but because I feel alive when I run, I am closer to God, and yes, it affords me the right to eat extra popcorn.  

Am I a Republicanophobe?

I am scared to write this post. First I am afraid to admit that I am prejudiced. But more importantly I am afraid that you, the reader, might be a Republican, and Republicans scare me. Why? Because, like other people who are prejudiced, I have an all or nothing mentality. Now is when you might get angry with me. But please don't yell, I am attempting to come to the root of my prejudice and abolish it. This morning, on Facebook, someone told me not to go all "right-wing" on him. It was, to me, a staunch tree-hugging, animal rights supporting, pro-choice, educated woman, an insult.

When I picture a Republican, I picture a gun-toting, anti-woman, racist,  homophobe. And people with guns scare me, and sexist, racist homophobes scare me. Therefore, Republicans scare me. And it all really just comes down to fear, fear of the unknown. I have tried to understand Republican economic theory, but I am a child of the 70's and I watched as the trickle down never trickle down. I read about huge corporations paying nothing in taxes and hiding their billions in profits in off-shore accounts. I watch as so-called Christians ignore the poverty stricken in this country, "they should work harder, they are moochers." When I picture a Republican I picture a person, devoid of compassion for those less fortunate. I watch as Republicans vote against the Equal Pay Act, as they cut assistance for needy children, and as they demonize women and teachers. This is what I see, hence my all or nothing mentality. I am no better than a racist, I let fear of the "other" guide my opinions. It comes down to the fear of the unknown. As a woman living in a sheltered community, I do not come in contact with many Republicans.

How can I abolish this extreme prejudice? It all comes down to the "us against them" mentality. If I focus on the differences, how can I begin to find compassion for the other, that person who holds different beliefs than I? After all, the world would be a boring place if we all believed the same things. The first step then, is to find common ground. So, my dear Republican reader, kindly help me out, help me to find common ground. I am a runner, I know, left turn, bear with me. As I runner, I race. When I go to races I run with thousands of other runners. We connect through our mutual similarities. I have no clue what political party my fellow racers belong to, we come for the common joy of running. When I pass a runner on the road, I am kind, I connect, I wave, I move over or slow down, after all it is a fellow runner. Turn right again, what commonalities can I find with my fellow Republicans? If I can find this, I might be able to soften around my opinions, my fears and my Republicanophobia.

From: http://www.informationisbeautiful.net/visualizations/left-vs-right-world/

What's Eating You?

"If something is eating you, you got to find a way to use it," said the art teacher from the movie  Speak. This got me to thinking about just what is eating me (because something is) and how I can use it. 

So I have been sending out resumes for the career field I chose since February of 2011, and proceeded to spend 120,000$ on the education needed for said career. It is now March of 2014 and, countless resumes and cover letters and "no thank yous" later, I am still searching. Now granted I am not the only one, and English majors are a quarter per dozen (inflation,) and I know that I would have a job if I was, say a Physics major with a minor in biochemistry. I also know that "rejection is God's protection." But I am also tired of not being able to support myself. So that is what is eating me. So how can I use this frustration / anger / uncertainty / apathy that is beginning to eat away at my stomach lining? Create something would appear to be the answer. As a writer my impulse is to grab a pen and create a sonnet, or possibly a haiku. But I also know that mucking around in the bog of complex emotions won't get me far. I have prayed, I have shared, I have knit hats, I have written poems and blog posts. The act of creating is cathartic, but if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? If the resulting creation is not shared or read or seen, does it exist? 

Today a motivational speaker / life coach came into school to speak with students in our internship program. He talked about just how much we really don't know about the world and how there is a perfect career path for all of us. He had us break down what we loved about our jobs (the students, their internships) and what we don't want in our workplace. He went on to explain that sometimes we can find meaningful work in the unexpected places. I want to be a teacher, but if I were to break that career down into pieces, I would need work that involves teaching, collaboration, creating and connecting the dots. It would involve working with young people (not too young) and it would be a new adventure everyday. I would have autonomy and creative license, I would use my research skills frequently and I would have opportunities for reading and writing. Now a classroom teacher is one way to go. But maybe I am missing something. Maybe in that space of limbo I am meant to cast a wider net. Maybe the frustration / anger / uncertainty / apathy is lurking for good reason. I don't know. But I know that I don't know and I guess, just for today, that is enough.

Resolutions, after all, it is a new year

I am going to lose twenty pounds, meditate everyday and work out five times a week. I will give up sugar and caffeine and feel great. It will be a fresh start. The gym? Here I come. 

Wait a minute...this is a set up for failure. I used to teach fitness classes at our local gym and the new year would mean crowded cardio equipment and full classes. But as regulars, a small core group of us would just sigh and say, just wait three weeks and it will be clear again. Why have some of my resolutions stuck while others have gloriously failed? It comes down to execution. Am I reaching for the mighty goal or have I kept it small? Do I overload myself with a huge list of inadequacies I resolve to change as the calendar changes? For me, only baby steps work. My brain will put the breaks on if it thinks the goal is too large. Instead of eliminating all sugar from my diet (huge fail) I instead need to eliminate one thing that I eat on a regular basis, say peanut butter cups (ok bad example, the peanut cups are here to stay.) 

Take my oboe fiasco for example; I decided to teach myself how to play one of the most difficult instruments. I ordered it, bought books, (all classical solos) a plethora of reeds and greedily opened the box when my new shiny instrument arrived. I would practice for an hour everyday, I would be playing "Gabriel's Oboe" by Christmas. I placed the reed in my mouth and blew. It was the most horrible sound, my dog started howling, the cats took off and I tried again. The squawk...well, it wasn't pretty, words do not describe. I had set myself up yet again for failure. Unreasonable expectations of myself. Why? Do I need to make sure I fail so that I don't have to try anything risky or difficult? Possibly. Finally, after three months went by, the shiny instrument sitting inside its cushy box, I asked for help. I took an oboe lesson from a local music teacher. After some pointers on a double reed instrument and warnings about tongue placement etc, he gave me the best piece of advice: start by practicing 5 minutes every day. I did, after all it was only five minutes. Now five minutes is a long time when you find out that your cheeks have weird muscles and your lungs, although you run five miles a day, have some training to do. But those five minutes turned into ten and fifteen and now forty - five. Once I began to have some small successes, playing "Mary Had a Little Lamb," for example, my motivation grew and I was able to carve out more time from my day. I was even able to take another lesson. I am still squawking occasionally, but I have now moved on to work on rhythm and training my fingers to make crisper sounds. 

My "five minutes a day" lesson transfers onto all areas of my life and most of my resolutions. Am I going to meditate for an hour everyday or can I just start with ten full breathes when I am in the shower? Am I going to go to yoga class everyday or is it possible to fit one pose in every morning while I brush my teeth? I need realistic expectations of myself. Once I can hold a half of a tree pose while brushing, everyday, once it becomes automatic, I can add a bit to the routine. Bit by bit, "inch by inch, row by row" I can assimilate healthy behaviors into my day. So although my resolutions might not be great feats, they are attainable.  I kept last years' now it time to start fresh, with ten breaths everyday, thirty seconds of my time. I can do it...

How Can I Serve God?

The actual process of looking for a "job"  in a way  severs the connection with my God. I am seeking a way to make money, to gain a reward and when I think of it in these terms I lose track of the real reason why I need to work. I need to serve God. I need to use what skills I have in order to make a difference in the world, in order to spread compassion and dispel fear. How best can I do that, and what is my purpose on this orbiting sphere. You would think that at 38 I would be clear about my future. I have the Liberal Arts degree in hand and goals, plenty of goals. I do however remember watching Good Will Hunting and lamenting the fact that I don't have a clear genius, that I am an average gal, I write well sometimes, I am told I am friendly and put people at ease, I read voraciously, but even as a child I didn't have the genius for one particular area, I wasn't a star. I am not Meryl Streep or Bill Gates. I didn't always dream of becoming a lawyer, firefighter or podiatrist. I love books, I love reading, I love writing, I love creating and looking at really old, beautifully decorated books. I want to die in the Beineke Library at Yale University. I love Dante and Chaucer and Boccacio and the way the Italian language rolls off my tongue. I love the sound of the keys when I type and I hold a notebook as a security blanket. This all doesn't translate into a rent-paying career. Or does it? I have my motives mixed up, I have been coming from a place of fear, fear of losing my apartment and car, fear of asking for help and fear of not knowing what the next step is. I think I know, but then I find out I don't. The key word here being "I." Dear God, please help me to know how best to live in accordance with your will for me. Help me to get out of my own way, help me to stop trying to work toward the end result and savor the process of discovering the person I am. Amen. 

Practicing Acceptance

I am a control freak (except when it comes to my house!) and the practice of acceptance is one of the more difficult spiritual goals I have set for myself. To accept the things I cannot change is fine as long as I am oblivious to what cannot be changed. The other day I was heading toward Boston and passed an anti-evolution billboard that screamed at me (or maybe that was my imagination). The 20-foot structure made of metal and paper was telling me that what I believe is false, what I have spent years studying, what I find fascinating, is just not true. I reacted with anger. How dare they tell me how to think? I spent an excessive period of time arguing with the billboard, with the people who paid for it and shoved it down my throat, or my eyes. I still feel self righteous indignation over this trampling, this invasion. I know I am overreacting. That is obvious. The question is why would that one billboard evoke such a strong feeling while others, informing all that one phone company is superior to another, doesn't even grab my attention? Maybe because I can choose which company to use, while I cannot change others. There will be a group of people out there that believe that man and dinosaurs co-existed, that believe that there is no way that we could be related to chimpanzees (they are so much hairier and definitely far more intelligent than man). Was I upset over the ego that was jumping out at me, or was I feeling a lack of control? I cannot change anyone's mind or belief system, just as I wish my own belief system to be left alone. I do not want anyone telling me what or who to believe in, my spirituality is sacred and unique to me. Maybe I felt threatened, that I was accused of being "wrong" or somehow defective because of my beliefs. What I do know today, is that acceptance is the answer, I am disturbed and it is up to me to pinpoint what part of me feels threatened. When I find that area I take back control. I have the ability to shift my feelings at any moment of the day. I have the choice to remain in the negativity and anger or to send love and light to the people I may not agree with as well as myself for my strong reaction. Life would be boring if everyone thought the same way, if everyone was a Red Sox fan or everyone a Democrat. There would be no dynamic, no change, and no evolution. So I will pass my sedimentary rock formations and smile and know that my loving God has been creating for billions of years, that snowballs and slushballs are just theories, that Pangy Day does have special meaning, and that yes, I, egotistical human that I am, did come from a speck of algae that the Universe created, and that millions of years from now, if I cannot reign in my anger over a billboard, I just might return to one.