24. Invisibility

In 24 hours, I will be standing in front of the (most recent) love of my life. Normally, the distance separating us is equivalent to 2800 miles.

A lot of people like to exaggerate and say "He lives like 4,000 miles!" or "That's an 8 hour plane ride!"

2,800 is 2,800. And it's a five-hour plane ride, thank you.

The corrections don't make it easier. It's hard to build intimacy through text message, so I'm lucky we've known each other for some time, and one of his best friends is one of my best friends; someone who has never steered me wrong or introduced me to someone I didn't like.

I'm not sure this post has a point or a moral like they usually do. I try to find a way to inspire the 40-75 people who eventually read my posts, to tell all of you something reflective.

I feel like when I tell my family and friends I'm in love, the correct response (or unsurprising response) would be, "What else is new?"

I took the six months I said I would. I dated (women) like I said I would. Got to know myself. Started exploring pieces of myself I didn't know were there. Stretched and rolled and reached for something higher. Had one of my best girl friends move in. Watched a few of my favorite couples dissolve. Got smack in the middle of one of them (god rest our souls).

And while he's 2800 miles away, I'm still exploring. So I guess the long distance is not so bad, after all. Although I'd dearly love a firm end date.

One of the first things I did in therapy was let go of narrative fantasy as entirely as possible, finally recognizing all I reaped from it over the years were a handful of fruitless relationships and broken hearts. That said, I'm having trouble breaking back into my heart and having as many feelings of romance without them. It's not that they aren't there, it's just hard to feel like me.

I suppose it's a matter of letting go and letting him in. It takes a long time.

I can try. It's all anyone can ask of me.

A shout-out to my hero

I tell other people all the time about my friend, who's also my hero. I tell her too sometimes, though probably not enough.

This is a woman who got her degree, the degree I wished I'd gotten, and moved to NYC, the city that matches my heartbeat and makes me feel alive. She was living my dream, and I was so proud of her.

Then she realized that her shitty writing job wasn't cutting it, and quit to become a full time professional dog-walker and pet-sitter. I've never seen her so happy, healthy, and fulfilled.

She is a fearless, radiant example of everything I hope to be, and I consider myself truly blessed to have her in my life.

This is a woman who can make the mundane seem fantastical through a beautifully crafted Facebook status or blog post. Someone who takes the lemons hurled at her by life, and crushes them with her bare hands, conjuring up spices, herbs and vodka and turning them into the most badass cocktail known to humanity. It's called the Hilary. It's not for the faint of heart.

Even during what can only be described as a hellish month, her online presence makes me laugh - huge, loud belly laughs - through the tears and my furrowed brow of fear and concern.

Thank you for somehow managing to make each life you touch happier and lighter. I hate to end this on such a cheesy note, but let's imagine it's the most delicious baked camembert or sharp cheddar or something else exquisite: Thank you for being you.

Hilary, you are spectacular.

xoxo

When You've Failed: Dear You

Congratulations: You!
12:00-1:00 p.m.
Biggest Conference Room in the Office

The meeting invite stares at me from the corner of my desktop. I scowl at it. My lips twist and eyes narrow. I have thoroughly failed in my planning for this meeting, and I’ve known of my failure for months. I’ve pondered this meeting in my head, rolled my choices along the roof of my mouth, worried the cracks with my tongue.

My company has a wonderful women in business group that my mentor hosts, and one of my dearest work friends is the Treasurer of Dreams. Many moons ago we had a meeting where we wrote our future selves congratulatory notes for the spring about our achieved goals and stored them in a box on her desk. I had two: moving to Seattle, and getting engaged to Lennon.

Lennon and I broke up in November. I suffered a psychotic break after I didn’t get my “perfect fit” job late this winter.

The past year has been hard on me. I have the gray hairs to prove it. But I started seeing a therapist, dyed my hair pink, and focused on my present self instead of what I thought my future should be. The box I thought I could cram myself into was not a viable future. The one I’m looking at now might not be either, I won’t know until I’m there. I have to remember this for my meeting in 70 minutes.

My friends Allen and Charli have a quote on their wall by their workstations (he's a programmer, they're a poet): Fail faster. Make better mistakes.

It's a quote about working tech; we create innovation by failing. It applies to our creative and "normal" lives too. If you're never failing, you're not pushing.

This is my new letter from present me to present me. I hope you, dear reader, get something out of it too.

Dear You,

Embrace the failure. These failures mark your survival, another groove worn into your hull of mistaken navigation and unclear signs. You are still here, and you are still fighting. Your eyes are open now, and you’re starting to understand that what you don’t agree with, you don’t have to do forever. You get an exit plan.

Now you’ve made an exit plan, and taken the very first steps towards getting there. The difference between this one and the other ones? The new plan is organically achievable; it runs into your blood like spring breezes. It grows flowers from your fingertips.

I am proud of you, even on the days when we mark high distress and shame on our Moodscope cards. Our plan may fail, more dreams may be broken, the plate might yet fall from your hands and shatter on the kitchen floor. Remember that plates and cakes are replaceable, but you are not.

You always say you never need anyone to save you - now, you’re living it.

Congratulations on avoiding trains for another year.

Congratulations on finally understanding the love song of your city, and writing yourself into it. Of wearing into your life with patience instead of hammering it like that’s going to do something besides make it weaker.

You lived. You win.

Love,
You

All's Well That Ends Well...I Think?

             I'm pretty sure I've typed up at least half a dozen of these to throw up here when I actually got the chance to type it all out again...and then just never did.

             Figured tonight would be a better night than any...

             In less than 24 hours, I take a test that will determine my future. Now, let me just give you a rather quick rundown of my relationship with tests go...

              It's a hate/hate relationship. Okay...it's a I'm-gonna-fuck-you-over/I'm-gonna-wish-I-could-rip-your-stupid-scantron-face-into-a-million-tiny-confetti-pieces-and-then-burn-you-to-the-fucking-ground-you-stupid-green-boxed-life-ruiner.

               Okay, now that that has been cleared up, I have this test tomorrow. My nursing final. It all comes down to this. The last test, of the last semester, of the last chance I'm giving nursing school. Ahh, yes...I failed it once already. Blame it on a boy, blame it on being too young, blame it on whatever you want...it all comes down to the fact that I messed up and I had to figure out what the hell to do afterwards ((and after breaking part of my hand for punching a wall and buying two bottles of whiskey)). I failed. Not sure there's a whole lot of things I've failed at...and this wasn't something I was too proud of. So, I did what any rational person would do.

                        I fought my way back in, and gave it everything I had.

                 So, here I am...6 years later...from start to almost finish...it all comes down to whether or not I can pass this test. ((Aside from that OTHER big test I have to take in order to actually BE a nurse...)). I'm not entirely certain how I'm supposed to feel about finally finishing this very long, very difficult, very frustrating, very EVERYTHING journey I've gone on...with everyone else that has stuck with me along the way...

              Or, maybe it's the fact that, in the near distant future, somebody out there is going to hand me a certificate to actually save people's lives...

The Anticipation is Palpably Painful

I am waiting for a phone call that will not come for another three and a half hours.

While I was in Washington last Monday, brushing my teeth, I got a phone call from a WA number. Thinking it was my host confirming our lunch plans, I picked up the phone with the toothbrush still in my mouth.

It was not Grace. It was an Amazon recruiter. Who wanted me to skip four phone interviews and come into the office for an interview “since you’re in town anyway.”

Well, there are a lot of things I do not know about in life, but one thing I do know is that you do not say no to a big company when they are asking you to interview for a job you don’t yet have, but are already extremely passionate about.

The interviews went okay. Parts of them went swimmingly, and parts of them I disconnected and couldn’t pull it in. When they asked about times I disagreed with something that my customers did, or something that happened in a project. I am not great at disagreeing with how things are done, because often when I disagree in my career, I’ve done it wrong. I’ve been told simply to hush. Because I don’t know what I’m talking about yet. Sometimes I am pulled into a meeting and corrected.

I’m not great at talking about myself, and I am a rambler. I should be more succinct. I should have been more succinct. It would have allowed for deeper questions. Maybe I should have taken a Xanax those two interview days, but I wanted a sharper edge - not the fluffy girl who gets by easy, cloud-like in her glory.

I emailed the hiring manager today asking for a timeframe of when I might expect to hear about next steps. She had not responded to my previous emails of follow-up questions. She asked if I had some time this afternoon to chat.

So I’m sitting here, expecting a rejection. Anticipating this rejection. Oscillating between being zen about it, and coming close to tears the next minute. I am very good at internalizing “everything happens for a reason.” I am also very good at grieving. But I am so tired of being teased by the universe. I am tired of, with each rejection, re-committing to New York and re-realizing that I’ve put a band-aid over a sucking wound that this landscape cannot heal.

This is not the blog post I wanted to write. I had a dalliance on my vacation - I wanted to write you the beginning of a love story about mud flats and misty forests and really big dogs. I wanted to tell you maybe not a wife after all. I wanted to tell you about how you should only kiss sober, touch each other sober. Remember what potential feels like without the help of bourbon because I had it for days at a time.

They can’t say they want me. It’s only been three days. And when you ask for a timeframe response to hiring, they come back with a time frame, not “let’s chat.”

Let’s chat about my dreams for what you’re building. Let’s chat about moving vans and relocation assistance; let’s chat about the things I can’t allow myself to think about for the next three hours. Give me a timeframe. Please, give me a timeframe or welcome me home.

UPDATE: I did, in fact, not get the job. I failed in my success metrics and analytical capabilities, as I have failed in both those things for every job I have applied to. I am unsure where to go from here besides to business school, which is supposed to start on April 5th.

Positively Wrecked

Things with my mother are officially back to normal.

I know, because even though I'm a nervous wreck and stressed to the point of passing out about my MTEL on Friday, I was able to call mom.  We both said sorry and talked about our problems.  I sympathized with her recent illness and issues with her new doctor.  She listened and gave me good advice about my myriad woes - Some to do with finances, a lot to do with the MTEL, and more to do with the ridiculous social situations stressing me out and distracting me from studying.

So, I'm a total train wreck.  I'm sitting here, crying at my keyboard, in my pajamas.  Worried because in less than two days, I have to pass an English MTEL with nothing but a Theater degree, a personal driving interest in language and literature, and whatever flashcards I can come up with.  I am not prepared.  Over the last few weeks, I've managed to get into enough personal drama to make it impossible to concentrate on studying until these last few days.

On the other hand, I shouldn't worry.  I've never in my life had an issue with standardized tests.  I've never scored less than 80% equivalent on a bad day for any state-run standardized test.  English has always been my best and favorite subject. Theoretically, there is not a large chance of failure.

But I have a lot riding on this.  Something like the rest of my life and career of choice.
The MTEL costs one hundred and fifty dollars each time you take it, I have to pass the English MTEL to get accepted into grad school, and I have to take the standard Literacy & Communication MTEL as well.  I'm honestly not sure what I would do in the case of failure.  "Try, try again" is a lot easier said than done when the first try already puts you three hundred dollars in the hole on unemployment.

But I never really let much stop me before.  I really shouldn't start now.  So I'm going to finish my tea and take a shower.

Then I'm going to make some damn flash cards.

I'm a bad depressive citizen

A post by my favorite blogger:

http://www.theferrett.com/ferrettworks/2014/03/how-to-be-a-good-depressive-citizen/

Yeah. I'm depressed and my supposed emotional support network of friends and family has basically shut down. So I'm a bad depressive. I write about family issues on this blog because I feel I don't have any other outlet. Some of the communication breakdown was my fault.  I didn't want to call people I haven't seen in a long time only to dump my issues on them.

Some people have been great about this.  There are people on facebook that really helped me get back some perspective and talk things out with my mother.  The vast majority of comments have been positive and supportive.

With a few exceptions.

One supposed friend told me I was a horrible person to say anything in public about my mother.
Another friend decided that it was hurtful to her that I didn't want to personally dump all of my issues on her specifically, even though we talk less than a few times a year.

Fine. Maybe I've fucked up my life even further by taking the only avenue I felt was open to me. Maybe I've found out more about who my friends are.

There are some people I owe phone calls to.