The Project - Day 10

I’m in the process of trying to create a new resume, again, and it has to fall someplace between cleaning out old files and scrubbing grout with a toothbrush on my list of favorite things to do. I hate the whole balancing act between “this is what I’ve done” and “this is what I can do” and showing your fabulous experience and skills and yet not overstating them at the same time. I feel like the whole thing is so fake, no matter how honest I am, I always feel like I’m overstating the truth.

I remarked to someone this year that rather than writing a resume or bio, I longed to just write “I don’t suck and I know what I’m doing. Give me a job already.” I suppose it might be different if my life had a more normal trajectory. Go to school, get job in related field, take advanced degree, get better job, etc. It’s a little hard to put down on paper how you spent 20 years trying to pursue a career with only a 5% success rate, so in the meantime you learned how to do everything short of working a psychic hotline to earn money. The upside? I have tremendous confidence in my ability to work, build skills and learn new things. The downside is that my resume looks like it belongs to a schizophrenic chimpanzee. And by this I mean no disrespect to schizophrenics or chimpanzees.

Most people transition at some point when they are going for a creative career and it is time to turn practical. My transition was to get married and pregnant, which was awesome for my life, but has turned out to be employment suicide. I feel fortunate that the people who know me and love me constantly remind me that I am (mostly) not a moron and that I have many useful skills, because if I saw myself as an extension of my resume I think I’d never make it out of the bathroom in the morning. I know reinvention is possible and I’m ready for it. As hard as it is to say, okay, I had a so-called dream, I went for it the best way I knew how for over 15 years, it didn’t work out, I’m ready to see what else is out there. I have a family now, I have a child, I have responsibilities to something bigger than my ego or my talent or whatever and it’s time to get creative in a way that will pay bills and put groceries on the table.

Actually that really hurts. That really, really hurts. Because when they say you will regret what you didn’t try, they are right. I will always second guess, always wonder if I could have made a different choice and made a better success of myself at this point in my life. Not that I would trade my current life with husband and child for a successful career, but I do hope that my kid doesn’t grow up and think mom just shit her life away for 15 years until he was born. I look back at the choices I made and I don’t regret any of them and I don’t see where I might have made different decisions, but I’m sure those moments were there and I didn’t even recognize them. Maybe in another 15 years I’ll have some clarity or at least perspective.

So, it’s time to reinvent. Time to imagine something new to be when I grow up. Time to focus on what is needed and not what is wanted and that is okay. I think. Just give me a minute. I need some time to figure out how to put it in a resume, how to say it wasn’t just that I flitted from job to job, always looking for the opportunity with the most return on the least commitment. Rather I would say, I had a lot of big ideas and some oversized dreams and I made some very brave and yes, maybe stupid choices, but I took risks and learned new things. The resume that lists my jobs is nothing, it tells you nothing about me. The resume of my heart, of my life, of the path I’ve been on for the last twenty years, this is what you need to know about me and what I must learn to communicate.

The Project - Day 9

I’m hoping this is kind of like trying to build an exercise habit (something else I need to return to) and the second stage of total crap is really just a stage before a breakthrough to greater ease and momentum. I’m also hoping I don’t wake up drooling on my keyboard at 3am this time around.

I’m a bit in awe of people who do this for real, all the time. One of the most powerful voices in my head is the one that says “You’re serious with this shit? You are boring yourself even thinking these thoughts, much less putting them to print.” How does the serious blogger or journal writer get to the place where they think, okay, I have something to say that’s worthy of regular expression? Or is it just compulsion, or discipline? I think the only prayer for me to every keep this up would be under the compulsion category.

I remember my sister saying once that she knew when she hadn’t been running enough because when she hadn’t hit the pavement in a while she got cranky and out of sorts. I do sometimes feel like my brain has become an overloaded sponge that needs squeezing and at those times, writing is my release valve. I suppose it is a related impulse, although I imagine compulsion only ever expands to skill when paired with discipline. I’ve had moments of what might be called discipline--I went through a write a poem a day phase for one reasonably long stretch--but in general I am a lazy pain in the ass. I hang on to my thoughts for time on end and then suddenly when it’s time to again wring out the brain sponge I want pithy thoughts and trenchant analysis on demand.

Is it too much to ask? To be able to translate my fascinating personality to the written world? (Apparently fatigue also sets the sarcasm meter way out of whack as well.)

Seriously though, I am hoping that through this stab at the discipline beyond the compulsion I will find something. Some what, I don’t know. In an ideal world, this will lead to clarity perhaps? A friend of mine once told me that I “processed by speaking”, meaning that if I could talk about a problem long enough I could figure out how to solve it. I suppose now I am trying to process by writing, not just to solve a problem, but to identify the problem. Not that there is a problem. I don’t think so. Maybe. Do I have a problem?

More to the point I want questions. I know usually people are looking for answers, but I’m not there yet. I want the questions I need that will help focus me in the new direction my life is taking. I need questions that define what of me is changing and what will always remain the same. Answers are endings, I’m looking for some new beginnings.

That’s it for today I think. I still find myself more than a little boring, but I still seem to be sticking around, so I must also be slightly attached to myself.

The Project - Day 8

Seriously??? After this day I’ve had, I think I’m going to casually write a page of some sort of mental exhalation? This is where the “project” starts to suck. I am so tired, part of the result of taking what is usually my day with my son and turning it into short playdate with son and friend, errands, teach, shop for cars (no, not kidding), a little cleaning and a rehearsal that ran overtime capped by a 3 year old who thinks staying up until mom gets home at 10 is just a-ok. While a whole day with the boy is no doubt exhausting, it is usually just one thing and the fun from being with him makes up for the crazy and the tired. Car salesmen are hardly a worthwhile substitute for my little dude.

At least he had a good day at preschool while I dragged my tail all over creation. I know that what I do is important, that we need the money from my teaching, that I’m able to do things my husband can’t while he’s at work that will help our family, etc. Still, some part of me wishes for that time when I could just be home with my boy all day and plan out our activities, following our own little routine. I need to remember that made me nuts after a while and that I need my own work, financially and emotionally. It just seems like there ought to be a balance between being supermom all the time and frantically scrambling for work, always feeling sub-par on the home front.

Damn, that was original. Not.

See, I’m exhausted and even so, my mental judges are so alive and kicking that they can kick me when I’m down. Or that would be me, kicking myself when I’m down? I suppose on some level that’s impressive.

(this is where I fell asleep with my face on my computer last night. I think we’ll have to call this one “good enough”.)

The Project - Day 7

I’ve started today’s page three times and erased it. I think that might be against the rules. My original idea was that I would just write a page, whatever brain vomit manifested and in the words of a dear friend, “leave it lay where Jesus flung it.” Today however, i appear to be plagued with dissatisfaction. It doesn’t matter if I’m the only one reading this, it bothers me to read crap. Apparently it doesn’t bother me enough to stop me from writing crap, but there you go, the ego will out.

One of my favorite books in the entire world is Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, which is about writing, but really about being brave and being creative and being blocked and having a sense of humor about both the crappy and the wonderful things in life. I think one of the best chapters is about the radio station that plays in your head, that would be KFKD or K-F***ed. This is the station that plays the soundtrack of failure and self-doubt, this is the musak that plays in the never ending waiting room where your muse goes to die. It has been playing full blast in my brain for most of the day.

It is astonishing to me that I am forty--no, not just that I’m forty, okay, well that does astonish me a bit as well--but rather that I am forty and still so very far from any form of sh*t-togetherness and still so susceptible to self-consciousness and doubt. I worked long and hard today on numerous projects. (Note: none of them had anything to do with cleaning the house. Pity.) Still, the only thing that made me feel very successful was smacking down a few car salesmen I had caught out in a lie. Really, this has to be near the nadir of accomplishment. These poor souls already have what is likely one of the worst jobs to have right now and I’m busting chops because they are lying to me. Really, shouldn’t I consider, as Br’er Snake would tell me, the nature of the creature? As snakes bite, so do car salesmen lie, expecting otherwise is a deficiency in the observer.

Why is it so easy to feel good about the things that do not matter? It’s like the taste of a Cheeto, satisfying at the outset, but only to be enjoyed in small amounts and ultimately, a bit sick-making. What I need is the taste of some fine cheese on a small point of artisan toast, garnished with fresh thyme and a twist of kumquat jelly.

Now I’m hungry. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, how most days I have the poise and confidence of a 13 year old.

I’d like to keep writing about that but I don’t really know what to say. Perhaps I can be forgiven for coming up a few lines short today. Or maybe I make like a 13 year old and increase my margins and font size?

The Project - Day 6

I don’t want to make this project too mommy-centric as part of the point is to explore other things, however it’s been a damn good day in mommy land.

My son has been using the potty on and off for over a year and I can honestly say I never thought I could be so emotionally invested in another person’s bodily functions. We chose the “he’ll do it when he’s ready” approach, subscribing to the philosophy that toilet training is a personal victory and important milestone towards independence. I envisioned a grand “Potty Party” when we would definitively know that he was “done” and a celebratory bonfire disposing of the last of the pull ups. Of course the reality has been an endless dance on that line between pressure and encouragement--the first true test of parenting a child with a will of their own, I think.

This is one of those things an adult child cannot even comprehend. I try to think of my mother obsessing over whether or not I had a BM that day and my mind reels. Perhaps this is why parents can never really let go. If at one point a large portion of your day is consumed with another person’s bowel and bladder voiding, I imagine it is difficult to say, hand that person car keys or send them off to college. Surely he’ll still need me to read him stories on the potty?

Even when he was a baby, I obsessed over his diapers, ready to call the pediatrician to make sure all the proper output was in evidence. I continually rebalanced his diet with fruits, vegetables and dairy to improve “regularity”. I remember writing a website entry when we once had five spectacular poopy diapers in one day. It was part disbelief, part amused wonderment at the continual surprises of motherhood. My son’s poopy diaper has been the last vestige of his babyhood, the one thing I must do to care for him that he cannot do for himself.

And now that is coming to an end. Now that he can take himself to the potty and knows what to do, I’ve been demoted to minor and occasional assistant and will soon be shut out completely, I am sure. Already he is understanding “privacy” and I’m sure his days of wanting mommy to sit with him and read while he does his business will soon be over. I can only imagine the level of horror he will feel at 16, should he ever come across his mother’s scribblings about wiping his bum and his infant constipation. That is as it should be, of course.

I’m sure we’ll welcome the money spent on diapers back to our general budget and I am  so proud of my son for taking this enormous step towards his independence. On the other hand, this is just one of many major steps away from his mommy. I can perhaps be forgiven for having a brief urge to put that diaper back on him.

The Project - Day 5

I am writing much too late now as my husband kept me up looking up new car information. Since I have an obsessive personality, my mind is now racing on the subject of curtain side airbags, warranties and the relative merits of various braking systems. My husband, as usual, stirs the pot, then snores away.

It should be made clear that in no way are we in any position to buy a new car at the moment. However, if the planets align and the heavens open, the circumstances might arise where a car could come into our possession. I’m not holding my breath. They say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I intend a full molar inspection should this come about.

We could really use a second car, but only if it comes down from on high from a good fairy. Or at least an occasionally cranky but benevolent fairy. And the fairy has requested we submit our proposals in writing, or at least in internet links. So, off to the online shopping tools I go, boldly pressing “build my car” as though a phalanx of elves are standing by, prepared to go into action depending on what buttons I push. It’s fun. But I remember from the last time we went through this process (with our own money) it quickly descends into the polar opposite of fun.

Buying a car has to be one of the few accurate predictors of hell here on earth. I can only imagine it is worse now, given the state of the economy and the car industry. I find myself wondering whether my entrails will be eaten live before me or if the dealer will merely offer to take my firstborn in trade for the extra undercarriage coating package. I know internet pricing takes some of the edge off the hardships of negotiation, but the extra burden of car shopping with my husband negates that advantage and then some.

In simple terms, my husband feels guilt about car shopping. This might be one of those Jewish things that I don’t fully understand, but based on further observation, this might be a phenomenon unique to my spouse. When we were car shopping the last time it took considerable force on my part to convince my husband that just because the nice Mazda dealer allowed us to drive their pretty car, twice, did not mean that we “owed” him. Or perhaps that we owed him a polite thank you or maybe a handy ballpoint pen, but not a down payment on a car.

We’ve established that this time around I will do all the advance work, research and initial test driving, narrowing down to 1-2 options which he will then peruse, test drive and quickly decide on a purchase. My gender may predispose me to bad deals in the showroom but the reality is, I’m a much better bitch and I have no problem saying “no” to a salesman. However, I’m still thinking about how we can ease my other half through the final process of test drive and comparison without thinking he has to pick out china with the sales person.

I’m thinking maybe a small gift is in order? If DH thinks that the salesman is owed for his time, this time I’m bringing a case of Twinkies.  A twinkie per test drive, does that sound right? Or should I go the cupcake route

The Project - Day 4

Yesterday I was thinking about what led to the major shift in my life, going from the life of a quasi-itinerant occasional musician living la vie Boheme to an ostensibly responsible married gal with a child, and just how did I get there. The truth is, right before I met my husband, I was stuck. Physically, mentally, spiritually I was trapped in an enormous sinkhole and couldn’t see any way to get out. I had walked away from a stagnant relationship, I was not happy with my work, etc. I’m sure it was a fairly textbook late-30’s single woman with no defined career pre-midlife crisis, but it felt original to me.

I decided to do a number of things to change up what I was doing and one of those things was to sign up for online dating. It had been at least a year since I had done this and honestly I thought I was finished with it. But, I was single, I wanted a reason to get out of the house and I wanted to have a little fun. I purposely signed up on a website that was not exactly known for expanded compatibility testing or meaningful relationships. It wasn’t www.bootycall.com, but it might have been close. There would be no expectations, just an experiment in short-term social bonding.

This went pretty well for a while, I had a couple of interesting dates, then I traded profiles with this guy who had two pictures of himself, one with two poodles, the other in front of an airplane. I thought, either he’s interesting, or he’s got a friend who really knows how to stage online dating photos. We connected, he turned out to be a big fan of Sondheim which made me immediately think “GAY”, but hey, I do not discriminate and he was willing to buy, so off we went. I was ridiculously late to our first date but for some reason he stayed and we had a lovely evening. Two weeks later he told me he was serious and would I come with him to a wedding and then to meet his family.

My first instinct was to run screaming out the door for a number of reasons that most people would find legitimate. But then I stopped, and I spent a long weekend thinking about my previous relationships. The truth was, I had been following my gut for nearly 36 years and what had it gotten me? Nothing. It seemed the only word I knew was “no” and the only direction I knew was backward. Was it my gut directing me or my fear? So I made a very conscious decision at the end of February 2005. Wherever I had said “no” before, I was now going to say “yes” and see where it took me. Instead of judging a situation and heading for the exit before it got messy, I was going to stick around, see what happened and try to put in some honest work on a relationship for a change. I had no idea that this choice would lead where it did, but it turned out to be one of the most important points in my life. My choices thus far had gotten me stuck, it would take new choices to get me unstuck.

Now it is five years later, and I’m finding myself stuck again. Circumstances are dictating that I close the door on some long-cherished dreams and strike out in new directions. While my gut tells me not to waste years of training, education and energy, I realize my gut is occasionally a stupid bitch and needs to be ignored. After all, if I’d paid attention to it five years ago, I wouldn’t be here, next to a guy who snores loud enough to wake the dead, down the hall from a little guy who is fast becoming a champion snorer in his own right. I can’t imagine life without either of them and it all started with turning “no” into “yes” and “why?” into “why not?” 

So life, career, home, I say to you YES and WHY NOT?