What position

Sometimes I just need to know that I'm not being kicked off the team. I got picked in spite of my flaws. I'm here to play, to hand off the ball, to help us win.

They aren't expecting me to know everything, just a few very important things. Which aren't that important in the scheme of things because this is just one game of many I participate in. Just be here, set the ball when it's in my part of the court, let them stay in control of the game.

I haven't played in a while. It will come back to me.

Why I fuck up.

I'm an office manager. I answer the phone, oversee the sales efforts, keep the fridge stocked...the to-do list grows every week.

When I'm told something once, especially in an aggressive tone, I don't forget it, ever. As in, "that person wanted some general information about an aircraft. I don't want to talk to them. You should always direct calls like that to (our research person)." Any time a caller asks me a question, I instinctively want to do as I was told that one time and direct that person to our researcher. I have been told numerous times not to bother the "guys" with calls that aren't related to sales. Aggressive sales guy scolded me once for transferring a call blindly and regularly tells me he doesn't want to talk to people who are asking for him by name. At times I have been fully aware that he is the person who is designated to take a call but I'm so uneasy about asking him to take it, that I take a message simply to avoid speaking to him. The fear of failure is compounded because the harder someone comes down on me, the harder I will be on myself for making a stupid mistake.

Today what sounded like research-related question was in fact a straight up sales call. I'd have known that if I took a moment to scan our listings instead of clamming up because I was embarrassed of my ignorance. After I had a minute to think about it, I realized that it would have been appropriate to send our sales guy the call. But he called me out before I could explain myself. I short circuited and my anger took over because I felt threatened by his tone. (His "approach," as my fellow associate called it when he stepped in to de-escalate my outburst.)

And that resulted in two hours of trying to step back my reaction and return to the calm focus I need to have to navigate unknown territory. I've been dealing with this particular anxiety since I left home after high school. It used to strike while hiking in the woods, and still does occasionally when I can't check in with gps. Truly the greatest comfort, generally speaking, is being able to see exactly where I am. Or even better, being led by someone who isn't afraid of being lost. Without this I feel a terrifying sense of panic.

So maybe it's early senility setting in, or learning about a contemporary I knew in high school who suffered a slow death from pancreatic cancer, or learning of a neighbor who shot herself in the head last week, or knowing that my young child is home alone while I try to make a living, or not having a firm lease in place, or the knowledge that my office is relocating, or a combination of all those lost and scared emotions, that set me on a bad path today.

Staring at my phone and putting this into words is the only way to pull myself together. Escaping is my main goal, but bearing down with a semblance of dignity is what pays the bills, so I'm going with that.

There comes a quiet, thoughtful moment

A lot is coming into focus these last few days.

I've been compiling writing and photography for a book I'm making by hand. I've made books before and published on Snapfish etc. But this one will be more raw. I knew I wanted something from this activity, and not a slick, glossy book with perfect binding. I wanted to spend time asking myself questions and listening intently for answers. My creative self has been at rest, intermittently dropping by to give commentary and insight, but always retreating again. This assignment is forcing me to wake up that part of myself and go further to explore what is possible. These hands prepared for a lifetime to create something I alone could hold and reflect on, no one to please but myself.

The book will consist of 4 parts. They will reflect my stream of consciousness and snapshots collected at 4 points during the year; Early Winter, Spring Solstice, Midsummer, and late Autumn. They will illustrate the yearlong journey of leaving my hometown and settling in a new place. Suggest that the journey took me in an upward spiral, same observations but from a different vantage point one year later.

Possibly incorporating organic elements collected in nature, definitely incorporating color to accent black and white imagery.

Church buildings. 1970-present. Frank Lloyd Wright. 20th century urban design.

Just thoughts.

Full circle

I'm grateful in a way that I don't have a lot of close friends with whom to talk about my emotional rollercoasters. I cycle so quickly that even my best friends would consider me mentally unstable and dismiss everything I have to say. Times like this I love the internet. It suddenly hit me why I have such a primal reaction to being put aside by the people I feel most attached to. So I googled "how to deal with abandonment issues in relationships." This is what I found.

AKeRU is a Japanese word that means “to pierce, to end, to begin.”
AKeRU is the name I’ve given to the five hands-on mental exercises that turn the pain of an ending into the beginning of positive change.

AKeRU makes its debut in both JOURNEY books.

AKeRU works with the natural flow of life process, enabling the individual to restore a sense of self, increase life, and find new love.

AKeRU recognizes abandonment as rebirth. It taps into your capacity for growth.

There is an AKeRU exercise for each stage of the abandonment process called S.W.I.R.L.

For the SHATTERING stage, there is an exercise for staying in the moment that helps you manage pain and enhance the quality of your life.

For WITHDRAWAL, there is a written dialogue that taps into your oldest and truest feelings – feelings that have been interfering from deep within your personality all along, and allows you to turn them around. If you make this exercise a part of your daily life, positive change is inevitable.

For INTERNALIZING, there is a visualization exercise that re-directs your psychic energy and helps you focus on your deepest dreams and needs, build toward real achievements, and change life direction.

For RAGE, the task is to use your rage energy to take constructive actions in your life. To help you do this, there is an inventory that helps you discover a powerful new voice, the Outer Child. Outer child is the part of the personality that acts out the inner child’s anger and frustration. Your Outer Child takes emotional hostages instead of forming healthy relationships. Outer Child is the culprit who sabotages your attempts to bring love into your life. The deconstruction of your Outer Child defenses allows you to change your behavior, resolve insecurity, and become ‘unstuck.’ (A 100 item Outer Child inventory is included in JOURNEY.)

For LIFTING, the task is to increase your capacity for love and make a new connection, which includes a Five Point Action Plan.

Really, it's an extension of grieving. When someone close to you dies, it's obvious to you and everyone why you're hurting, and there's conventional wisdom behind coping and expectations from society to give the sufferer time to heal. But for someone like me who is ultrasensitive to being ignored, even to a small degree, it triggers some of the same reactions as a person who is grieving the death of a loved one. It's like my brain can't tell the difference.

I had the idea that, in order to work through some of my scars from my marriage and other failed relationships, I might illustrate my emotions as I would in a children's picture book. That's tomorrow's goal, to put some of these raw feelings out into the world, in my own words, my own imagery.

In the interest of objectivity

I'm drinking rewarmed black coffee.
I had a bite of cottage cheese from Safeway, and it didn't taste right.
Paint it Black by the Rolling Stones just came up on my personalized playlist.
There's a hazy cloud hanging over the eastern half of the sky, blocking the sun.
I briefly forgot the name of the person I've been dating for 2 months.
I plan to accept the bids on 2 clothing pieces I listed on eBay, and then take them to the post office sometime today. Or maybe Monday.
I don't really want to go to my cousin's house tomorrow. Or do that aerial class I've been talking about. I definitely will go though. To my cousin's. Not that other thing.
Sleeping feels really good to me.
I can't resist picking up my fat cat when she's in an arm's reach.
I think a lot about how medications affect me.
I tell myself that no matter what is happening, I am still alive, but likely dormant.

Something I never predicted that I would love about my last job: the intake process. I was trained over a couple months' time (through some very clunky and slightly abusive methods) to simply "take in" what I was seeing in front of me. I had to compartmentalize my reactions into purely objective eyewitness accounts. Overall condition. Frame condition. Glazing condition. From there I could look closer and specify and assign labels to conditions. However it was very risky to even go so far as to label something a stain. "Stain" connotes that a relatively unintentional event occurred, one that must be quantified and given weight, at least when you're associating yourself with an insurance company that can choose whether or not their client is covered for this event or that. It was maddening sometimes. And honest questions to the more senior staff people were often met with irritated sighs. Nobody really wants to be in charge of making these assumptions, but that's what we were faced with for three hours every day. Sometimes you could easily attribute staining to the documented water loss that occurred on a specific date. Other times it wasn't so obvious. Was it even water that caused that stain? Could the painting have been hung near a table where food was served, and something splattered it? You have to love being a detective to do this type of work. Then present evidence to your internal judge, and spit out a verdict.

But the point is, there were some parts I did really love. Using my eyes to see the difference between cracks and craquellure. Putting it in the record. Discerning between rust and corrosion. Putting that in the record. It reinforced for me that my eyes were actually more accurate than a photograph. I put my nose right on the wood frames to determine if there was smoke odor, or mold odor. Sometimes Id sniff and sniff and detect nothing. Often it was so strong my face would contort. There's beauty in that instantaneous assessment and reaction. No subjectivity enters, It's not the time or place.

I'm probably glorifying this one aspect of my former job because it was so overwhelmingly unsatisfying on all other counts. But if I could hone in on one skill from the experience, it would be the one that gave me a chance to slow down my reaction time. Observe. Describe. Save and Exit.

Nevertheless

I've decided that today will be my last day at Colorado Art Restoration. I am grateful to Shannon for taking the time to train me, and giving me a chance to learn new techniques. But the reality of working here is that the chaos that comes with the sorting and checking-in of insurance losses prevents me from being able to focus on my strengths as an art conservator. I know without a doubt that I need to pursue a different path for my own sense of well-being.

Incidentally, I don't care for the way Mike greets me by touching my back while I'm working. It violates the boundaries of our business relationship, and it is totally unacceptable.

That's my schpiel. At 10 am I will walk out of that building with my head held high. I have too much pride to accept a paltry salary for work that is below my skill level.

Blue lights are shinin' over my life

Went down a rabbit hole just now when I pulled up some music that lit up the dark years of my 20's. Such sweet sadness as I recall those youthful, carefree times.

Maintenance

I've had some pretty big ups and downs since I abandoned my securities and came to Colorado to start over.

On Sunday I went on an 11.5 mile hike. Hard ups, fast downs, till I left feeling nothing but exhaustion. A perfect metaphor for what being on in your own feels like. Sure, I was in the middle of 60 other climbers, and that helped me stay motivated. But it was my own reserves and training that got me all the way through that thing.

Could be poor quality of sleep that's extending my recovery. I've been wrecked emotionally for days. Irritated, short tempered, unable to conjure up small talk or pleasantries. I'm worried I might never come back around.

Friends seem distant. My job feels foreign. My face doesn't look like me. Clothes feel weird. All I want is sleep and even that is hard to get. Can't read any more news. Tv seems empty. Books hurt my eyes. Alcohol makes my head throb. Running out of my meds. Don't know if I'll be insured in a month.

Feels like being lost in the mountains, a series of false summits and no downhill in sight.

Chomping at the bit

One of the first things I learned about R is that he raises horses. He showed me photos of all 5 of them, each one rescued before being euthanized. The biggest, an enormous white female named Bella, all the way down to the most recent, Neville, whose ribs were visible when he arrived, he was so starved. I've never met a human who had any desire to do such a thing. He does it purely out of kindness. The horses don't work for him. He works for the horses. He purchases bales of hay and stores them precariously in the shed so they won't go hungry. He said the horses teach him about himself. This little tidbit had escaped me the last few days when I questioned whether he was the kind of guy I could fall for. He lives by a different set of rules, a different time table. He is ruled by the needs of his family, including his daughter, the horses, chickens and dogs. His work is never done. He doesn't go home at 2:00 to selfishly fill up on snacks, check his texts and take a nap. I do. But I'm starting to feel a shift. I have much to learn. Same as he learns about himself from being with the horses, I can learn about myself, and how to improve myself and the quality of my free time.

Starting with this. Instead of dwelling on whether he returns my texts in a reliable fashion, I will declare my gratitude that today I sent out a plea for help because my car had died. He was there with jumper cables in a matter of minutes. Checked in a couple of hours later to make sure I got home ok. A worthwhile interaction, in so few words. A hug. The knowledge that he is listening and there was no question he would be there when I needed him. A signal from the universe to stop spinning in my old patterns and follow the goodness that shined on me in my time of need.