1. How can you stop being an a**hole, get out of your own way and make room for more of your magic to happen in 2015?
2. Work: What sort of work did you do in 2014? Was it new to you? Did you
take on new responsibilities? Change jobs? Or take on a new task at
home?
Boy howdy, I am behind on prompts! That's what happens when I have stuff to do during the day, I guess.
So I'm not really sure that I can relate much to the first prompt. As a retiree, I pretty much go with the flow of things and try to do what appeals to me. I've been open to what comes along and about giving most opportunities a shot before I either abandon it or pursue something further.
I'm sure that I'm pretty good at being an asshole too, but I don't think it happens as frequently as it used to, mostly because I really try not to put myself in positions where I revert to that behavior.
And work. No, I did not work outside the home, with a boss, for pay. I didn't do anything for actual pay. I don't WANT to do anything like that, frankly!
But I worked. I worked on ME. I worked on my attitude of gratitude. I worked on fear and anxiety and diminishing it. I worked on inviting more spirit into my life. I worked at loving who I am, warts, extra pounds, judgmental attitude, and all.
This is not new to me. But the freedom to really work at it is still a huge blessing, and to be free of distractions like making a living and dealing with unpleasant people at a job.
More positive work is ahead in 2015, I'm sure. I've begun some new things that I am having fun pursuing, and I want to be open to more of those.
Showing posts with label job. Show all posts
Showing posts with label job. Show all posts
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Monday, November 03, 2014
August Moon 2014: Day 9, Just one thing?
"Today I invite you spell out the range of things you are and would like to be....
How could you a cultivate a life that reflects all that you truly are?
I think the intent of this prompt was to examine who we are and what brings us joy, and how we might create our whole life, work and all, around this concept to actually make a living at what we love doing.
I'm not in the 'making a living' part anymore since we retired. Thank God(dess), we have enough to allow us to live comfortably without (much) worry. There are always things beyond our control, of course, like fickle stock markets and economy-crashing disasters, but that has always been true.
I AM in the business of making a life, however, and retirement really offers an opportunity to look closely at how I want to spend the time I have left with this life. It's a little daunting as well: we spend years and years doing what we need to do (nevermind that we have chosen to undertake a large part of it -- in our choices of jobs, spouses, children, activities) and getting it all done one way or another.
To have time to do whatever we truly want to do is not an easy decision for most of us. Sure, sleeping in, reading books, gardening, cooking -- whatever we enjoy doing -- is a large part of it, and a fun one. But there are larger questions: is this truly what I want to be doing? Should I be doing more? Am I too old to have a do-over? Is there a larger purpose than what I have seen so far to my life?
In my choices of jobs during my working life, I was fortunate: mostly I was working in areas that I felt a strong attachment to, a passion for. It was never about the money for me, although there is no question that I needed the income. But it was about how I could contribute my passion, my talents, my knowledge to the field in which I was working. Those were mostly non-profits or public sector jobs, jobs with purpose and meaning and which touched people at some basic levels.
It was not until much later in my working life that I was employed by corporations and my efforts were really directed at putting money in the stockholders' (or owners') pockets through my skills in marketing, writing, and creative flow. While the money, at least in one, was far better than anything I'd ever earned in a non-profit or public sector job, the job politics were ah-ma-zingly difficult, especially for one who pretty much takes people at their word. I was pretty much doomed to fail. When they finally laid me off in the third or fourth company reorganization I'd survived, I was delighted -- and careful not to let them know that. It was a soul-sucking, ethically challenging experience, and I learned some good things from it -- but also suffered extreme stress.
That was my last 'office' job. From then on, I was self-employed -- and that, too, is stressful in some ways, but so freeing in so many others.
So now I am two years into retirement and am wanting more substance, more purpose to my days. There is still housework and regular chores. There is time, if I choose, to read and to cook and to putz at different little projects. There is time to sort through clutter and choose what to keep and what to let go. There is more time than I'd wish spent in going to doctors and getting medical tests, and more attention to physical issues. But there is also time to travel and to pet kitties and talk to my honey and my friends.
But that does not necessarily make for a fulfilled life. I want more. I want direction and purpose. And only I can find that -- through going within, through contemplation, through self-examination.
How could you a cultivate a life that reflects all that you truly are?
I think the intent of this prompt was to examine who we are and what brings us joy, and how we might create our whole life, work and all, around this concept to actually make a living at what we love doing.
I'm not in the 'making a living' part anymore since we retired. Thank God(dess), we have enough to allow us to live comfortably without (much) worry. There are always things beyond our control, of course, like fickle stock markets and economy-crashing disasters, but that has always been true.
I AM in the business of making a life, however, and retirement really offers an opportunity to look closely at how I want to spend the time I have left with this life. It's a little daunting as well: we spend years and years doing what we need to do (nevermind that we have chosen to undertake a large part of it -- in our choices of jobs, spouses, children, activities) and getting it all done one way or another.
To have time to do whatever we truly want to do is not an easy decision for most of us. Sure, sleeping in, reading books, gardening, cooking -- whatever we enjoy doing -- is a large part of it, and a fun one. But there are larger questions: is this truly what I want to be doing? Should I be doing more? Am I too old to have a do-over? Is there a larger purpose than what I have seen so far to my life?
In my choices of jobs during my working life, I was fortunate: mostly I was working in areas that I felt a strong attachment to, a passion for. It was never about the money for me, although there is no question that I needed the income. But it was about how I could contribute my passion, my talents, my knowledge to the field in which I was working. Those were mostly non-profits or public sector jobs, jobs with purpose and meaning and which touched people at some basic levels.
It was not until much later in my working life that I was employed by corporations and my efforts were really directed at putting money in the stockholders' (or owners') pockets through my skills in marketing, writing, and creative flow. While the money, at least in one, was far better than anything I'd ever earned in a non-profit or public sector job, the job politics were ah-ma-zingly difficult, especially for one who pretty much takes people at their word. I was pretty much doomed to fail. When they finally laid me off in the third or fourth company reorganization I'd survived, I was delighted -- and careful not to let them know that. It was a soul-sucking, ethically challenging experience, and I learned some good things from it -- but also suffered extreme stress.
That was my last 'office' job. From then on, I was self-employed -- and that, too, is stressful in some ways, but so freeing in so many others.
So now I am two years into retirement and am wanting more substance, more purpose to my days. There is still housework and regular chores. There is time, if I choose, to read and to cook and to putz at different little projects. There is time to sort through clutter and choose what to keep and what to let go. There is more time than I'd wish spent in going to doctors and getting medical tests, and more attention to physical issues. But there is also time to travel and to pet kitties and talk to my honey and my friends.
But that does not necessarily make for a fulfilled life. I want more. I want direction and purpose. And only I can find that -- through going within, through contemplation, through self-examination.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Scintilla#13, Day 1
Last year I participated in the first Scintilla Project, a couple of weeks of daily writing prompts that encourage you to tell your stories. And here we are again.
If you want to sign up for daily prompts in your inbox, go here. It's not too late to begin.
Every day you get two possible prompts; do one or both. Today's are:
1. Tell a story about a time you got drunk before you were legally able to do so.
2. Tell a story set at your first job.
Well, it's not like I don't have experience with getting drunk before I was of legal age. And perhaps another day I'll tell you about the very dark night we met a very black cow in the middle of a dirt road while we were heading out to 'the brush' for a party. But not today.
***********
Oh, I had the usual kinds of teenage jobs: babysitting mostly, and a summer or two as an A&W carhop; a part-time campus thing in college where I threw greasy fried potatoes or rubbery scrambled eggs on plates in the cafeteria at the butt-crack of dawn, and a much better gig as the news director of our campus radio station, the first woman on the (paltry) paid staff.
My first post-college job was as a school teacher, and I have several stories from those years, although not necessarily that first year when I was barely three years older than some of the kids I was working with and still was startled every time someone called me "Mrs. Steele" since I was also a newly-wed.
But the summer before my college senior year I was a reporter for my hometown daily newspaper in Springfield, Mo., full-time and decently paid. In those days before the big media companies had bought up the medium and small market dailies, in those days before the Internet and cell phones and widespread use of computers, we had two daily papers: The Daily News in the morning and the Leader-Press in the afternoon, and a full contingent of editors, columnists, reporters, typesetters, and printers for both. (The papers were bought by Gannett in 1977 and were consolidated since 1987.)
My first morning as a reporter for The Leader-Press found me at a second-row desk with an IBM electric typewriter in the noisy open bull pen . The news desk editor and managing editor sat facing each other at a huge U-shaped table to one side of the room, with copy editors flanking them on the arms of the U, and the publisher's office was nearby with a big window and a door looking out onto the news room. The long back of the room, in a sectioned-off area, held rows of tall filing cabinets -- the 'morgue' -- which contained ongoing permanent files and reporters' notes and clippings about current or important stories, information about civic leaders that could be pulled instantly as background material in the event of their death, and bound volumes of newspapers in addition to files of the current year's copies.
It smelled of fresh ink and paper, and cigarette smoke and stale, thick, burnt coffee. There was a constant low thrum throughout the building from the hum of many electric typewriters, the linotype machines in the composing area, and from the giant presses churning out newspapers and advertising sections.
It was a bit overwhelming. And everyone seemed to be very busy. And I was the lowest of the low, a cub reporter, one of three college students hired that summer, and the first one on deck.
Later that week when the other students showed up, I was reassigned to the Daily News (morning paper) staff and honestly felt I'd found my tribe there: in that time of shirts and ties for men and dresses and pantyhose for women, these reporters were a little more casual, ties loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, wandering into the newsroom around 2:30-3 in the afternoon to take stock of what had occurred during the day that would be tomorrow morning's news, It was a congenial group, often going out for coffee together after the last version of the paper had been proofed and put to bed. Not many women, either: there was one on the night staff, also an intern, who had just graduated and was offered a permanent position after the summer, but the other women reporters worked during the day or as columnists. There was one outstandingly marvelous, bat-sh*t crazy female photographer with whom I got to travel several times in search of 'local color' photographs and photo essays ( I wrote the cutlines -- captions -- and got the ID if we were including people pictures.). Even today I recall with heart-stopping clarity the abrupt screeching as she stopped her car in the middle of a somewhat busy country road so she could take pictures of a big box turtle moseying across it.
But that first day, I was a little timid and quiet, taking it all in, rewriting little local briefs and a few straightforward obituaries sent over from area funeral homes, and hearing the constant ding-ding-ding of the signal bells and non-stop clackety-clacking from the AP and UPI wire teletypes in a tiny nearby room as they spit out alerts and story after story on the long, endless rolls of yellow paper in boxes which sat stacked underneath the machines. Reporters and editors stood intently over the teletypes much of that day, ripping and handing long strips off to others to mark up, and nobody said much to me as they strode purposefully past my desk.
The date was June 6, 1968: Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated. I am embarrassed to say it was several hours before I knew that, and me in a newsroom! Clearly it was not a typical day for any newsroom, but it was a memorable first day on a new job for this writer.
If you want to sign up for daily prompts in your inbox, go here. It's not too late to begin.
Every day you get two possible prompts; do one or both. Today's are:
1. Tell a story about a time you got drunk before you were legally able to do so.
2. Tell a story set at your first job.
Well, it's not like I don't have experience with getting drunk before I was of legal age. And perhaps another day I'll tell you about the very dark night we met a very black cow in the middle of a dirt road while we were heading out to 'the brush' for a party. But not today.
***********
Oh, I had the usual kinds of teenage jobs: babysitting mostly, and a summer or two as an A&W carhop; a part-time campus thing in college where I threw greasy fried potatoes or rubbery scrambled eggs on plates in the cafeteria at the butt-crack of dawn, and a much better gig as the news director of our campus radio station, the first woman on the (paltry) paid staff.
My first post-college job was as a school teacher, and I have several stories from those years, although not necessarily that first year when I was barely three years older than some of the kids I was working with and still was startled every time someone called me "Mrs. Steele" since I was also a newly-wed.
But the summer before my college senior year I was a reporter for my hometown daily newspaper in Springfield, Mo., full-time and decently paid. In those days before the big media companies had bought up the medium and small market dailies, in those days before the Internet and cell phones and widespread use of computers, we had two daily papers: The Daily News in the morning and the Leader-Press in the afternoon, and a full contingent of editors, columnists, reporters, typesetters, and printers for both. (The papers were bought by Gannett in 1977 and were consolidated since 1987.)
My first morning as a reporter for The Leader-Press found me at a second-row desk with an IBM electric typewriter in the noisy open bull pen . The news desk editor and managing editor sat facing each other at a huge U-shaped table to one side of the room, with copy editors flanking them on the arms of the U, and the publisher's office was nearby with a big window and a door looking out onto the news room. The long back of the room, in a sectioned-off area, held rows of tall filing cabinets -- the 'morgue' -- which contained ongoing permanent files and reporters' notes and clippings about current or important stories, information about civic leaders that could be pulled instantly as background material in the event of their death, and bound volumes of newspapers in addition to files of the current year's copies.
It smelled of fresh ink and paper, and cigarette smoke and stale, thick, burnt coffee. There was a constant low thrum throughout the building from the hum of many electric typewriters, the linotype machines in the composing area, and from the giant presses churning out newspapers and advertising sections.
It was a bit overwhelming. And everyone seemed to be very busy. And I was the lowest of the low, a cub reporter, one of three college students hired that summer, and the first one on deck.
Later that week when the other students showed up, I was reassigned to the Daily News (morning paper) staff and honestly felt I'd found my tribe there: in that time of shirts and ties for men and dresses and pantyhose for women, these reporters were a little more casual, ties loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, wandering into the newsroom around 2:30-3 in the afternoon to take stock of what had occurred during the day that would be tomorrow morning's news, It was a congenial group, often going out for coffee together after the last version of the paper had been proofed and put to bed. Not many women, either: there was one on the night staff, also an intern, who had just graduated and was offered a permanent position after the summer, but the other women reporters worked during the day or as columnists. There was one outstandingly marvelous, bat-sh*t crazy female photographer with whom I got to travel several times in search of 'local color' photographs and photo essays ( I wrote the cutlines -- captions -- and got the ID if we were including people pictures.). Even today I recall with heart-stopping clarity the abrupt screeching as she stopped her car in the middle of a somewhat busy country road so she could take pictures of a big box turtle moseying across it.
But that first day, I was a little timid and quiet, taking it all in, rewriting little local briefs and a few straightforward obituaries sent over from area funeral homes, and hearing the constant ding-ding-ding of the signal bells and non-stop clackety-clacking from the AP and UPI wire teletypes in a tiny nearby room as they spit out alerts and story after story on the long, endless rolls of yellow paper in boxes which sat stacked underneath the machines. Reporters and editors stood intently over the teletypes much of that day, ripping and handing long strips off to others to mark up, and nobody said much to me as they strode purposefully past my desk.
The date was June 6, 1968: Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated. I am embarrassed to say it was several hours before I knew that, and me in a newsroom! Clearly it was not a typical day for any newsroom, but it was a memorable first day on a new job for this writer.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The cheese is moving for print newspapers
I've been a fan of Who Moved My Cheese for some years now -- a little fable about adapting to the changes in one's environment.
I've been a writer for years, both as a journalist and in various public relations and marketing communications positions. I'm currently a freelance writer, working primarily with the Record Searchlight and Enjoy! Magazine.
Journalism is changing. The I-want-it-now mentality, coupled with the *astounding pace of technology and information development, is taking its toll on our traditional news sources, and across the country newspapers, magazines, and publishers are downsizing, cutting, and trying to look at business models that will enable them to survive.
The cheese has moved.
Yesterday, the Rocky Mountain News published its own obituary, just 55 days shy of its 150th birthday. It's one of the Scripps-Howard newspapers, and sadly it joins a list of others that have gone down recently.
The San Francisco Chronicle is periously close to closing -- a Hearst Corp. publication.
And while I, along with millions of others, hate to see the demise of the print newspaper, I suppose it's time. Certainly it appears to be inevitable.
That doesn't mean the news will go away. People read news online, including my beloved, who browses not only online newspapers, but news blogs and magazines. I, on the other hand, love the feel and smell of a print paper in my hands, sitting down for a half hour and drinking coffee and browsing through the news.
It goes back to my childhood: I don't remember a time when there wasn't a daily paper in the house, folded to the crossword puzzle that my dad would pick up and put down all day until it was finished, sports section folded back, or maybe holes where my mother had clipped coupons or recipes. My grandmother's letters always included at least half a dozen clippings about different things -- news of someone she knew, a recipe, a home remedy.
I admit that as the papers have shrunk, the depth of news just isn't there. As reporters have been chopped, fewer local stories are getting covered, and those that are generally are local politics, and even that isn't as in-depth as it might be. There's little money to go around even in-house; freelancers can cover only so much, and generally that is not hard news, but the fluffier stuff. (Nonetheless, people like reading about their friends and neighbors...)
Here's a look at what the future of newspapers may be, and here's a take from four editors in SF. Bottom line: print papers are dead. Long live the news.
The cheese has moved, and I, along with reporters, editors, publishers, and other journalists, need to adapt.
We live in interesting times.
*Makes me wonder if Skynet is closer to being reality than we'd like to think!
I've been a writer for years, both as a journalist and in various public relations and marketing communications positions. I'm currently a freelance writer, working primarily with the Record Searchlight and Enjoy! Magazine.
Journalism is changing. The I-want-it-now mentality, coupled with the *astounding pace of technology and information development, is taking its toll on our traditional news sources, and across the country newspapers, magazines, and publishers are downsizing, cutting, and trying to look at business models that will enable them to survive.
The cheese has moved.
Yesterday, the Rocky Mountain News published its own obituary, just 55 days shy of its 150th birthday. It's one of the Scripps-Howard newspapers, and sadly it joins a list of others that have gone down recently.
The San Francisco Chronicle is periously close to closing -- a Hearst Corp. publication.
And while I, along with millions of others, hate to see the demise of the print newspaper, I suppose it's time. Certainly it appears to be inevitable.
That doesn't mean the news will go away. People read news online, including my beloved, who browses not only online newspapers, but news blogs and magazines. I, on the other hand, love the feel and smell of a print paper in my hands, sitting down for a half hour and drinking coffee and browsing through the news.
It goes back to my childhood: I don't remember a time when there wasn't a daily paper in the house, folded to the crossword puzzle that my dad would pick up and put down all day until it was finished, sports section folded back, or maybe holes where my mother had clipped coupons or recipes. My grandmother's letters always included at least half a dozen clippings about different things -- news of someone she knew, a recipe, a home remedy.
I admit that as the papers have shrunk, the depth of news just isn't there. As reporters have been chopped, fewer local stories are getting covered, and those that are generally are local politics, and even that isn't as in-depth as it might be. There's little money to go around even in-house; freelancers can cover only so much, and generally that is not hard news, but the fluffier stuff. (Nonetheless, people like reading about their friends and neighbors...)
Here's a look at what the future of newspapers may be, and here's a take from four editors in SF. Bottom line: print papers are dead. Long live the news.
The cheese has moved, and I, along with reporters, editors, publishers, and other journalists, need to adapt.
We live in interesting times.
*Makes me wonder if Skynet is closer to being reality than we'd like to think!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Hard times seem to be everywhere
I don't know quite what has changed in the universe, but things sure feel bleak right now for us and for everyone. I'm working to keep some perspective and to find blessings, and I do -- but boy, there doesn't seem to be a lot of light at the end of this tunnel right now.
Freelancing is always a bit of a feast-or-famine gamble: when you're busy, you don't have time to do a lot of marketing, and when you're not, it is a hurry-up-and-wait game. Freelance journalists are all having a hard time these days because so many of the markets -- like print newspapers -- are drying up, or groups aren't doing newsletters, or they're making do with volunteer efforts rather than using professional help. And often freelance rates aren't set by the individual, but are paid by the hiring organization. They, like salaries and benefits, are subject to cuts as well. Try 40 to 50 percent. Ouch.
Illness of any kind demands a new set of rules and requirements, and it takes time and persistence to go through the system to get what you need. Meanwhile, living expenses continue. Symptoms can be distressful, but doctor appointments don't always happen when symptoms flare. It's also a hurry-up-and-wait situation, and one only hopes the medical attention will happen quickly enough to prevent more severe consequences.
Today I've talked to friends whose businesses are non-existent, or cut back considerably, and they're all struggling with bills, how to afford medical costs, fuel, etc.
Do you take whatever you can find for a job and tough it out, even when stress and unhappiness clearly affect your mental and physical health? Or do you pay attention to what your body tells you and find ways to tighten already tight budgets?
What happens when your business is going downhill because of circumstances beyond your control -- hackers take down your online business site, for instance, causing you to lose money, or manufacturers place unreachable sales goals on their sales force because of their own desperation? You can do all you can to stop it, but it may not be enough. It may not work.
Many, many people do not have any wiggle room or rainy-day resources to help them, so requests for help from "the system" are increasing, yet those budgets are also decreasing. And it is a "hurry-up and wait" system: you can fill out applications to start the process, but what do you do in the meantime?
Times are not fun right now. It's one day at a time for all of us. Time to do all you can where you are with what you've got. And pray that you see a way to make things better. That's what I'm doing.
Freelancing is always a bit of a feast-or-famine gamble: when you're busy, you don't have time to do a lot of marketing, and when you're not, it is a hurry-up-and-wait game. Freelance journalists are all having a hard time these days because so many of the markets -- like print newspapers -- are drying up, or groups aren't doing newsletters, or they're making do with volunteer efforts rather than using professional help. And often freelance rates aren't set by the individual, but are paid by the hiring organization. They, like salaries and benefits, are subject to cuts as well. Try 40 to 50 percent. Ouch.
Illness of any kind demands a new set of rules and requirements, and it takes time and persistence to go through the system to get what you need. Meanwhile, living expenses continue. Symptoms can be distressful, but doctor appointments don't always happen when symptoms flare. It's also a hurry-up-and-wait situation, and one only hopes the medical attention will happen quickly enough to prevent more severe consequences.
Today I've talked to friends whose businesses are non-existent, or cut back considerably, and they're all struggling with bills, how to afford medical costs, fuel, etc.
Do you take whatever you can find for a job and tough it out, even when stress and unhappiness clearly affect your mental and physical health? Or do you pay attention to what your body tells you and find ways to tighten already tight budgets?
What happens when your business is going downhill because of circumstances beyond your control -- hackers take down your online business site, for instance, causing you to lose money, or manufacturers place unreachable sales goals on their sales force because of their own desperation? You can do all you can to stop it, but it may not be enough. It may not work.
Many, many people do not have any wiggle room or rainy-day resources to help them, so requests for help from "the system" are increasing, yet those budgets are also decreasing. And it is a "hurry-up and wait" system: you can fill out applications to start the process, but what do you do in the meantime?
Times are not fun right now. It's one day at a time for all of us. Time to do all you can where you are with what you've got. And pray that you see a way to make things better. That's what I'm doing.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Making choices
I had a conversation today about right choices -- what IS the right choice? What makes a choice right? How do you know the choice you make is the right one for you?
Short answer: Don't know.
What I DO know is that life is full of choices, a whole bunch of them ones that will dramatically alter how your life goes from that point onward, and that you usually don't recognize them as such when you're at that crossroads.
Or at least I didn't for a lot of my own choices. As I've gotten older, I'm much more aware of those converging and diverging paths, and tend to dither a bit more about which one I pick.
But I sure didn't do that when I was younger.
College was a biggie, for instance: I went to Central Methodist College-now-University mostly because I'd attended a United Methodist camp thingy there as a high schooler. My parents liked it because I could get good financial aid. We all liked it because it was fairly small, yet still in Missouri where I grew up, so I could see my folks often enough to satisfy all of us.
In my sophomore year, I was bound and determined to go elsewhere for the last two years, believing then that I was not getting the kind of education I should be (never mind that my grades, while adequate, were hardly stellar, and reflected more my studying habits than my basic intelligence).
Indeed, my English major coursework was largely As -- and I say largely only because there were two classes in which I made a C and was okay with it, one of them at the ungodly (even then) hour of 7:40 a.m. and even the professor had trouble making it (snore). I didn't even read all the books --faked my way through the essay tests, and still came out with a C+/B-. (Learned the fine art of B-S in that class, I did....)
The other one was actually an interesting class but was taught by a Greek prof, gorgeous to look at and listen to, but who reserved his As for those who (a) read the complex five-act English plays on time every time, even when we would meet in the morning to finish one and in the afternoon to begin another (his wacky schedule, not the one according to the registrar), and (b) wrote papers according to some formula or style that I never figured out. The Rat actually gave me a D on a paper -- the one and only D I had EVER received on a paper! And bled all over it with his red pen to boot. While I never made another D from him, I never made an A either, and even my wonderful advisor admitted she was puzzled over his methods.
But anyway.
I vividly recall a conversation with my parents about wanting to go to my then-boyfriend's rather unusual school in North Carolina, and being told in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen. They were okay with me applying to more traditional schools closer to home, which I did during my sophomore year, determined that this podunk town was absolutely no place for progressive, liberal me.
Well, I got talked into staying there by several friends whose opinions I valued, including one guy a couple of years older than me who was known for his cynical attitude even then. What they all said eventually made sense to me, and I decided to stay put. (And then got acceptance letters to two schools, including the Unversity of Kansas, which REALLY would have been a shock.)
And therein changed my destiny.
I met my first husband at CMU the first semester of my senior year, although I'd actually met him during one of the previous years when he came back as an alumnus of the campus radio station in which I worked, and did some guest speaker stuff for the staff. But we began dating that senior year and married the June after I graduated.
Was it the "right" choice for me? I don't know. What I do know is that because of that choice and subsequently others, I am where I am today, and I like who and where I am, thankyouverymuch.
We make choices. Choices have consequences, both good and not so good. You then choose how to handle the choices from those consequences: this job or that, stay or go, make it work or let it go.
Or you can drift along, remembering how good it used to be in the good old days (which it really probably wasn't, but our bodies generate hormones that help us forget the bad stuff and remember the good, or at least the not-bad). You can allow life to happen to you rather than taking control, even as much control as most of us may get, given jobs and spouses and income and locations.
Clearly there are choices we all face along that road that are a little more clearcut -- choices about things illegal, immoral, unethical, harmful to us or our loved ones. "Right" becomes a little more obvious then, although we still have choices to make about how we deal with such problems. I've made a few of those too. Change is always hard; this kind is harder.
And then some situations can sometimes offer either win-win or lose-lose dilemmas, and it's not easy to see what to do.
I remember one of those: I had been offered a new job in a different environment that was likely going to give me management experience and better career potential. The job I was in gave me a lot of autonomy -- I was a one-person department, but it was also grant-funded, and those positions are always politically vulnerable. The pay was the same, exactly.
I dithered for several days. I remember crying over it, making lists of pros and cons, talking with my husband, talking with my friends, even seeking advice from my current boss (a wonderful man and great boss for me). I was going to stay in the same field whichever I chose and would keep the same colleagues and friends, but would work for a different institution (this was during my public sector days).
I finally decided to take the new job. As with most choices, it proved to be a mixed bag. I did get management experience, but I also eventually worked for a boss who had the compassion of a cobra. I learned a lot, and I'm not sorry I chose it. But was it 'right'? Yeah. But it was because I MADE it right.
Eventually that experience helped me get a job in Birmingham for an industry-related company, and that company brought me to California. And in California I met my beloved Tony, and ended up where I am now.
We make our own destiny through the choices we make, and what we do with the choices we make. No single choice is exclusively "right" or "wrong" -- it is a choice. And it is up to us to make it work, or change it, or even to do nothing and let others make the choices for us. Not to decide is to decide.
Short answer: Don't know.
What I DO know is that life is full of choices, a whole bunch of them ones that will dramatically alter how your life goes from that point onward, and that you usually don't recognize them as such when you're at that crossroads.
Or at least I didn't for a lot of my own choices. As I've gotten older, I'm much more aware of those converging and diverging paths, and tend to dither a bit more about which one I pick.
But I sure didn't do that when I was younger.
College was a biggie, for instance: I went to Central Methodist College-now-University mostly because I'd attended a United Methodist camp thingy there as a high schooler. My parents liked it because I could get good financial aid. We all liked it because it was fairly small, yet still in Missouri where I grew up, so I could see my folks often enough to satisfy all of us.
In my sophomore year, I was bound and determined to go elsewhere for the last two years, believing then that I was not getting the kind of education I should be (never mind that my grades, while adequate, were hardly stellar, and reflected more my studying habits than my basic intelligence).
Indeed, my English major coursework was largely As -- and I say largely only because there were two classes in which I made a C and was okay with it, one of them at the ungodly (even then) hour of 7:40 a.m. and even the professor had trouble making it (snore). I didn't even read all the books --faked my way through the essay tests, and still came out with a C+/B-. (Learned the fine art of B-S in that class, I did....)
The other one was actually an interesting class but was taught by a Greek prof, gorgeous to look at and listen to, but who reserved his As for those who (a) read the complex five-act English plays on time every time, even when we would meet in the morning to finish one and in the afternoon to begin another (his wacky schedule, not the one according to the registrar), and (b) wrote papers according to some formula or style that I never figured out. The Rat actually gave me a D on a paper -- the one and only D I had EVER received on a paper! And bled all over it with his red pen to boot. While I never made another D from him, I never made an A either, and even my wonderful advisor admitted she was puzzled over his methods.
But anyway.
I vividly recall a conversation with my parents about wanting to go to my then-boyfriend's rather unusual school in North Carolina, and being told in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen. They were okay with me applying to more traditional schools closer to home, which I did during my sophomore year, determined that this podunk town was absolutely no place for progressive, liberal me.
Well, I got talked into staying there by several friends whose opinions I valued, including one guy a couple of years older than me who was known for his cynical attitude even then. What they all said eventually made sense to me, and I decided to stay put. (And then got acceptance letters to two schools, including the Unversity of Kansas, which REALLY would have been a shock.)
And therein changed my destiny.
I met my first husband at CMU the first semester of my senior year, although I'd actually met him during one of the previous years when he came back as an alumnus of the campus radio station in which I worked, and did some guest speaker stuff for the staff. But we began dating that senior year and married the June after I graduated.
Was it the "right" choice for me? I don't know. What I do know is that because of that choice and subsequently others, I am where I am today, and I like who and where I am, thankyouverymuch.
We make choices. Choices have consequences, both good and not so good. You then choose how to handle the choices from those consequences: this job or that, stay or go, make it work or let it go.
Or you can drift along, remembering how good it used to be in the good old days (which it really probably wasn't, but our bodies generate hormones that help us forget the bad stuff and remember the good, or at least the not-bad). You can allow life to happen to you rather than taking control, even as much control as most of us may get, given jobs and spouses and income and locations.
Clearly there are choices we all face along that road that are a little more clearcut -- choices about things illegal, immoral, unethical, harmful to us or our loved ones. "Right" becomes a little more obvious then, although we still have choices to make about how we deal with such problems. I've made a few of those too. Change is always hard; this kind is harder.
And then some situations can sometimes offer either win-win or lose-lose dilemmas, and it's not easy to see what to do.
I remember one of those: I had been offered a new job in a different environment that was likely going to give me management experience and better career potential. The job I was in gave me a lot of autonomy -- I was a one-person department, but it was also grant-funded, and those positions are always politically vulnerable. The pay was the same, exactly.
I dithered for several days. I remember crying over it, making lists of pros and cons, talking with my husband, talking with my friends, even seeking advice from my current boss (a wonderful man and great boss for me). I was going to stay in the same field whichever I chose and would keep the same colleagues and friends, but would work for a different institution (this was during my public sector days).
I finally decided to take the new job. As with most choices, it proved to be a mixed bag. I did get management experience, but I also eventually worked for a boss who had the compassion of a cobra. I learned a lot, and I'm not sorry I chose it. But was it 'right'? Yeah. But it was because I MADE it right.
Eventually that experience helped me get a job in Birmingham for an industry-related company, and that company brought me to California. And in California I met my beloved Tony, and ended up where I am now.
We make our own destiny through the choices we make, and what we do with the choices we make. No single choice is exclusively "right" or "wrong" -- it is a choice. And it is up to us to make it work, or change it, or even to do nothing and let others make the choices for us. Not to decide is to decide.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
The critic in my head is alive and kicking
Dadgummit.
So I'm freelancing, right, in control of my time, my work. Yes, I need to please the clients, but so far everyone has been very happy with my work. *I* am happy -- mostly -- with my work, although sometimes I have to cut a story more than I'd like to meet word requirements, or omit details that I'd like to work in because of said requirements. Or sometimes the story takes a completely different turn than the one I'd envisioned.
I'm feeling good about myself. Today brought a satisfying meeting this morning at which I got good feedback and made good contacts; did a good interview with a resource for an upcoming column.
So why does the inner critic immediately assume something is wrong when a client wants to meet with me?
My reaction: what's wrong?
Answer: absolutely nothing.
I'd like to drown that little devil in my head. No, I'd like to stuff him into a dumpster that is about to be emptied into an enormous landfill far, far away from me. How about the Terminator?
I know why he's there, and I know why he reacts as he does, at least in part. Most of my jobs have been fairly rewarding -- my work has made a difference, it's been well received, and my managers have been happy.
But there was one job -- which shall go unidentified -- that just about did me in physically as well as emotionally. And I think the critic got really, really fat and happy from that one.
One manager there took me to lunch to hand me a plate full of criticism from my peers (two of them, both of them with serious control issues which had been documented in HR). Much of it was unfounded or terribly one-sided, and to top it off, it came only a few months after my father had died unexpectedly, and I was still reeling with grief, although I was showing up and doing my job.
But it hit me out of the blue, it did. I'm not good at hiding emotion, either, so I ended up in tears at the restaurant, thoroughly embarrassing myself. Actually, the manager thought he was softening the approach by taking me to lunch. I don't do well when I'm blindsided, I told him, and to his credit, he never did that again.
But it made me gunshy. It made me paranoid: I saw criticism everywhere from then on -- and even though my peers and I mended fences and worked successfully together on various projects, I never really trusted any of them after that -- nor liked them much, for the most part. But then that trust thing is a whole 'nuther issue, I suppose.
And later, a not-very-well thought-out reorganization gutted my whole department and separated the few remaining creative types into different departments reporting to different managers. Our instructions were to take marketing "to the next level," except that nobody -- including the managers -- seemed to know what that meant. It was awful. It was chaos. There was no way I -- or most of the rest of them -- could please anybody. There was little or no communication about anything: we were just "supposed to know" what to do, I guess. Reviews were a joke: my manager relied on third-party hearsay to let me know what I was doing wrong, and I wrote my own action plan which he approved, but never asked about.
Eventually -- predictably -- there was another reorg and we were all let go (I was THRILLED). Several of the managers caught it in the reorg after that. I don't know what the company is doing nowadays -- probably outsourcing to India.
I am 60 years old. I do not have to please anyone but myself about my work, and I'm my harshest critic anyway -- always have been. I refuse to allow this angry little demon to cause me one more moment of angst about who and what I am, and the quality of work that I do.
I swear it. No more.
So I'm freelancing, right, in control of my time, my work. Yes, I need to please the clients, but so far everyone has been very happy with my work. *I* am happy -- mostly -- with my work, although sometimes I have to cut a story more than I'd like to meet word requirements, or omit details that I'd like to work in because of said requirements. Or sometimes the story takes a completely different turn than the one I'd envisioned.
I'm feeling good about myself. Today brought a satisfying meeting this morning at which I got good feedback and made good contacts; did a good interview with a resource for an upcoming column.
So why does the inner critic immediately assume something is wrong when a client wants to meet with me?
My reaction: what's wrong?
Answer: absolutely nothing.
I'd like to drown that little devil in my head. No, I'd like to stuff him into a dumpster that is about to be emptied into an enormous landfill far, far away from me. How about the Terminator?
I know why he's there, and I know why he reacts as he does, at least in part. Most of my jobs have been fairly rewarding -- my work has made a difference, it's been well received, and my managers have been happy.
But there was one job -- which shall go unidentified -- that just about did me in physically as well as emotionally. And I think the critic got really, really fat and happy from that one.
One manager there took me to lunch to hand me a plate full of criticism from my peers (two of them, both of them with serious control issues which had been documented in HR). Much of it was unfounded or terribly one-sided, and to top it off, it came only a few months after my father had died unexpectedly, and I was still reeling with grief, although I was showing up and doing my job.
But it hit me out of the blue, it did. I'm not good at hiding emotion, either, so I ended up in tears at the restaurant, thoroughly embarrassing myself. Actually, the manager thought he was softening the approach by taking me to lunch. I don't do well when I'm blindsided, I told him, and to his credit, he never did that again.
But it made me gunshy. It made me paranoid: I saw criticism everywhere from then on -- and even though my peers and I mended fences and worked successfully together on various projects, I never really trusted any of them after that -- nor liked them much, for the most part. But then that trust thing is a whole 'nuther issue, I suppose.
And later, a not-very-well thought-out reorganization gutted my whole department and separated the few remaining creative types into different departments reporting to different managers. Our instructions were to take marketing "to the next level," except that nobody -- including the managers -- seemed to know what that meant. It was awful. It was chaos. There was no way I -- or most of the rest of them -- could please anybody. There was little or no communication about anything: we were just "supposed to know" what to do, I guess. Reviews were a joke: my manager relied on third-party hearsay to let me know what I was doing wrong, and I wrote my own action plan which he approved, but never asked about.
Eventually -- predictably -- there was another reorg and we were all let go (I was THRILLED). Several of the managers caught it in the reorg after that. I don't know what the company is doing nowadays -- probably outsourcing to India.
I am 60 years old. I do not have to please anyone but myself about my work, and I'm my harshest critic anyway -- always have been. I refuse to allow this angry little demon to cause me one more moment of angst about who and what I am, and the quality of work that I do.
I swear it. No more.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Contemplating the weather...and The Secret
It's hard to think of snow and ice elsewhere in the country when our temps are 70 degrees as they have been over the last few days. My friends and family who are braving temps in the teens and ice pellets as they drive slowly to work don't want to hear about things starting to bloom and early spring fever. Most of them truly do have the six more weeks of winter forecast on Groundhog Day.
If it's any consolation, our respite is nearly over (okay, for a few days) with wind and cooler temps in the forecast (okay, so it is supposed to climb back near 70 for the weekend...please don't shoot the harbinger of spring here). Truly, I do expect some cold and rain -- and even welcome it. We still need more rain, and I'm not ready for spring and constant sunshine just yet. The cool grey feeds my soul too, and I haven't had enough yet. There's a severe weather alert out that calls for fairly strong winds, and I'm not crazy about that, however...
I have so many good things to read, so many interesting TV programs to watch, but a whole lotta bunch of deadlines to meet this week are keeping me from doing much of either. I'm not complaining, mind you (okay, not much). It is good to be working and good to be writing.
One program I managed to squeeze in was the latest Oprah show on The Secret with several life coaches giving their perspectives. In this month's O magazine, Martha Beck talks about envisioning the perfect mate, for instance. Now I already have the perfect one for me (((glow))) but I actually visualized what I wanted in a partner years ago, long before I met him, without knowing anything about the law of attraction. No, I didn't know the color of his socks (read the article), but I knew the critical stuff. And I got all of that and more.
While there is a lot to ponder about the Secret, it boils down to choices we may make: to be positive or to be negative about our lives, to curse god and die when things happen that aren't fun and are hard to deal with (and I cannot believe that even the Secret devotees don't have a few bad days and bad stuff that happens to them), or to concentrate hard on the only thing you actually have the power to change: your own attitude; and figure out a way to live a good life even with problems.
I'm actively practicing gratitude, morning and night. I'm trying to figure out the happiest moment of every day and to give thanks for that every night. I'm sending love and energy to friends and family who I know are struggling with issues, and I'm sending it to myself. I'm asking the universe for what I want, and I'm trusting that it -- or something better -- will happen.
A couple of weeks ago I had an opportunity for a "regular" job and strongly considered it. My deepest heart, however, screamed "NO!" at me, although I tried to give it all proper consideration. And then the universe threw another option at me that fits much better with the way I work -- that message was waiting for me when I returned home from talking to the folks about the first. Coincidence? There are no coincidences.
I asked the universe for what I needed and wanted. And I got it.
Trust. Act. Be grateful, every day, for every thing. Ask... and trust again. Be patient.
It will be all right.
I believe that.
If it's any consolation, our respite is nearly over (okay, for a few days) with wind and cooler temps in the forecast (okay, so it is supposed to climb back near 70 for the weekend...please don't shoot the harbinger of spring here). Truly, I do expect some cold and rain -- and even welcome it. We still need more rain, and I'm not ready for spring and constant sunshine just yet. The cool grey feeds my soul too, and I haven't had enough yet. There's a severe weather alert out that calls for fairly strong winds, and I'm not crazy about that, however...
I have so many good things to read, so many interesting TV programs to watch, but a whole lotta bunch of deadlines to meet this week are keeping me from doing much of either. I'm not complaining, mind you (okay, not much). It is good to be working and good to be writing.
One program I managed to squeeze in was the latest Oprah show on The Secret with several life coaches giving their perspectives. In this month's O magazine, Martha Beck talks about envisioning the perfect mate, for instance. Now I already have the perfect one for me (((glow))) but I actually visualized what I wanted in a partner years ago, long before I met him, without knowing anything about the law of attraction. No, I didn't know the color of his socks (read the article), but I knew the critical stuff. And I got all of that and more.
While there is a lot to ponder about the Secret, it boils down to choices we may make: to be positive or to be negative about our lives, to curse god and die when things happen that aren't fun and are hard to deal with (and I cannot believe that even the Secret devotees don't have a few bad days and bad stuff that happens to them), or to concentrate hard on the only thing you actually have the power to change: your own attitude; and figure out a way to live a good life even with problems.
I'm actively practicing gratitude, morning and night. I'm trying to figure out the happiest moment of every day and to give thanks for that every night. I'm sending love and energy to friends and family who I know are struggling with issues, and I'm sending it to myself. I'm asking the universe for what I want, and I'm trusting that it -- or something better -- will happen.
A couple of weeks ago I had an opportunity for a "regular" job and strongly considered it. My deepest heart, however, screamed "NO!" at me, although I tried to give it all proper consideration. And then the universe threw another option at me that fits much better with the way I work -- that message was waiting for me when I returned home from talking to the folks about the first. Coincidence? There are no coincidences.
I asked the universe for what I needed and wanted. And I got it.
Trust. Act. Be grateful, every day, for every thing. Ask... and trust again. Be patient.
It will be all right.
I believe that.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The hazy, lazy, crazy dog days of summer
Lots of beginnings this month, but not much resolution in any of them, it seems, and that's not a really comfortable place to be.
Update on daughters: not much to update. Haven't heard from #3 or #2; #1 is staying put for the time being, and I'm trusting that she is okay (later update -- she is). I have to trust they're ALL okay, y'know? Otherwise the ice weasels do a marathon dance contest. Some days are easier than others.
You think that if you love someone enough that it will help them, and that's not necessarily true: thousands and thousands of families who have gone through Alanon, for instance, because they love someone who is destroying themselves through alcohol or drug abuse. I believe love can make a difference -- but ultimately the individual is responsible for his/her behavior and choices. Golly but that is a hard lesson.
Update on kitties: Both new little boys are just thriving outside,and they're about to the point where we will leave them outside at night too. Their personalities have solidified: Snitch is very personable, loves to be held, and purrs with a loud rumble. He darts here and there, and is curious and not hesitant. Squib is still reserved, but more vocal, and talks a lot. He will purr when held, but doesn't seek a lap, preferring to watch from a little distance. He is very busy playing, though, running up trees, attacking the stones and dried leaves, and should make an excellent gopher-getter! Weasley sniffs and occasionally licks; they've yet to all snuggle together, but that's coming. He likes having them. Harry is still pouting and glares at them, but is not aggressive towards them. Cheswick and McMurphy, inside, still aren't happy, but the hissing and wild-eyed behavior has stopped. Everybody likes treats (bribes)...
Update on jobs: We're beginning to settle into a routine now of commuting to Chico and writing at home, and I'm over a major deadline, so am trying to figure out what I need to do next. A top priority is organizing the office and cleaning out the real estate stuff -- but I'm having trouble getting started, maybe because it is a big project. I've got a couple of Arts Council deadlines too, and just need to git'erdone. I've got other assignments, but loose deadlines, so there's not a big rush to work on them -- although I should get started.
And I'd rather read. I'm an Oprah behind, and closing in on the last pages of Kushiel's Scion, plus two or three issues of Newsweek.
It feels like the dog days of summer right now, despite the fact that schools opened just a few days ago and we're headlong into fall and winter planning and event calendars.
And during the dog days, aren't you supposed to just lay back among cool cushions, with tall, icy glasses of lemonade and tea and a few nibblies like nuts and cookies, and relax with books or movies or both? Yeah. That's what I want.
I'll get there. I always do.
Update on daughters: not much to update. Haven't heard from #3 or #2; #1 is staying put for the time being, and I'm trusting that she is okay (later update -- she is). I have to trust they're ALL okay, y'know? Otherwise the ice weasels do a marathon dance contest. Some days are easier than others.
You think that if you love someone enough that it will help them, and that's not necessarily true: thousands and thousands of families who have gone through Alanon, for instance, because they love someone who is destroying themselves through alcohol or drug abuse. I believe love can make a difference -- but ultimately the individual is responsible for his/her behavior and choices. Golly but that is a hard lesson.
Update on kitties: Both new little boys are just thriving outside,and they're about to the point where we will leave them outside at night too. Their personalities have solidified: Snitch is very personable, loves to be held, and purrs with a loud rumble. He darts here and there, and is curious and not hesitant. Squib is still reserved, but more vocal, and talks a lot. He will purr when held, but doesn't seek a lap, preferring to watch from a little distance. He is very busy playing, though, running up trees, attacking the stones and dried leaves, and should make an excellent gopher-getter! Weasley sniffs and occasionally licks; they've yet to all snuggle together, but that's coming. He likes having them. Harry is still pouting and glares at them, but is not aggressive towards them. Cheswick and McMurphy, inside, still aren't happy, but the hissing and wild-eyed behavior has stopped. Everybody likes treats (bribes)...
Update on jobs: We're beginning to settle into a routine now of commuting to Chico and writing at home, and I'm over a major deadline, so am trying to figure out what I need to do next. A top priority is organizing the office and cleaning out the real estate stuff -- but I'm having trouble getting started, maybe because it is a big project. I've got a couple of Arts Council deadlines too, and just need to git'erdone. I've got other assignments, but loose deadlines, so there's not a big rush to work on them -- although I should get started.
And I'd rather read. I'm an Oprah behind, and closing in on the last pages of Kushiel's Scion, plus two or three issues of Newsweek.
It feels like the dog days of summer right now, despite the fact that schools opened just a few days ago and we're headlong into fall and winter planning and event calendars.
And during the dog days, aren't you supposed to just lay back among cool cushions, with tall, icy glasses of lemonade and tea and a few nibblies like nuts and cookies, and relax with books or movies or both? Yeah. That's what I want.
I'll get there. I always do.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Embracing change
Oh, I know I sound like a broken record -- "Change change chaaaannngeeee......change of foo-ools"
(Yes, I know it's "chain." I'm taking literary license.)
We're back from 10 days visiting our pasts and our present, and, potentially, our future. And change looms large today. It's technically our last day in real estate, as Tony starts a new opportunity tomorrow, and we're shutting down our little firm. The cheese moved, and we're finding new cheese.
So we've done lots of looking back over the last couple of weeks, and I'm sure you haven't read the last of it. As for the new opportunity, it means the end of our working across the room from each other and the relative freedom to control our time, but it also means positive cash flow, a chance to do work he's very good at and enjoys doing, and time off that will actually BE time off (every time -- save this last 10 days -- we'd go out of town, we'd inevitably get an offer or request to show or some real estate concern, which meant we'd have to take time to deal with it remotely while we were "on vacation.") It's a good thing.
I'll still be working from our home office -- cleaning up the remnants of our time in real estate, doing various freelance writing gigs that are coming my way, eventually working to grow that business a bit. I've freelanced at various times in past lives and always enjoy it. It's familiar ground, and will keep me as busy as I want to be.
So that's the biggest change I've talked around in the past several posts. A door opened; we walked through it.
I rather like change. It keeps the mind fresh, thinking of possibilities, of consequences, of ways to grow and learn and become. In every instance, change in my life has brought me good things, even when it's been hard. I believe that this new opportunity will do the same.
I am grateful for all the friends we've made in real estate and the learning experiences it's provided. It's been an interesting ride, and one that's allowed us to add some good skills, to learn about ones we didn't know we had, and to transition between who we were into who we are now. And now it's on to the next life lessons.
(Yes, I know it's "chain." I'm taking literary license.)
We're back from 10 days visiting our pasts and our present, and, potentially, our future. And change looms large today. It's technically our last day in real estate, as Tony starts a new opportunity tomorrow, and we're shutting down our little firm. The cheese moved, and we're finding new cheese.
So we've done lots of looking back over the last couple of weeks, and I'm sure you haven't read the last of it. As for the new opportunity, it means the end of our working across the room from each other and the relative freedom to control our time, but it also means positive cash flow, a chance to do work he's very good at and enjoys doing, and time off that will actually BE time off (every time -- save this last 10 days -- we'd go out of town, we'd inevitably get an offer or request to show or some real estate concern, which meant we'd have to take time to deal with it remotely while we were "on vacation.") It's a good thing.
I'll still be working from our home office -- cleaning up the remnants of our time in real estate, doing various freelance writing gigs that are coming my way, eventually working to grow that business a bit. I've freelanced at various times in past lives and always enjoy it. It's familiar ground, and will keep me as busy as I want to be.
So that's the biggest change I've talked around in the past several posts. A door opened; we walked through it.
I rather like change. It keeps the mind fresh, thinking of possibilities, of consequences, of ways to grow and learn and become. In every instance, change in my life has brought me good things, even when it's been hard. I believe that this new opportunity will do the same.
I am grateful for all the friends we've made in real estate and the learning experiences it's provided. It's been an interesting ride, and one that's allowed us to add some good skills, to learn about ones we didn't know we had, and to transition between who we were into who we are now. And now it's on to the next life lessons.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Hunkering down this week
I've got a list of to-dos that have kept me working pretty much from 8:30 this morning until about 15 minutes ago -- and it's midnight -- with only lunch and supper breaks, and one foray into town this morning.
It's serious writing time. Finished the arts newsletter and it's off to printer in the morning. Also discovered that we are nearly out of business cards, so did a redesign on those too, and they'll also go to printer.
So tomorrow it's research and draft time on one big project. And Wednesday. And Thursday. Friday is meetings and stuff all day, and Saturday we're meeting some folks for a few hours that entails bringing food, although it won't be fancy.
But I feel better for having crossed two things off.
I'm still constantly practicing positive gratitude (although I'll admit I was challenged a time or two today), and projecting positive thoughts about what I want, picturing myself in that bright blue Jeep Liberty, for instance...*grin*
The Sopranos ended last night, "...not with a bang, but a whimper" (apologies to T.S. Eliot). millions were talking about the 30-odd seconds of black screen that made us think the network was down or that the recorder didn't get it all at first, and then when credits started rolling silently, we realized it was over. Worse than Bobby Ewing's dream!
And yet, on contemplation today and much discussion with Tony (my honey, not the Soprano), I'm okay with the ending. It was full of speculation, symbolism if you cared to see it, and possibilities for all the family members. So they live on, in some weird parallel universe-mind, I suppose, and there could be a movie (but I bet there won't be). In some ways this ending made them even more real than they seemed to be.
It was a fun evening, though -- a group of us who have been watching this season together made it a party with Italian food, wine, laughter, and a Sopranos quiz. We watched the very first episode of the series before we watched the very last one. There were lots of changes, and yet the same issues were there.
So it's on to the next to-do on the list. Right now, that's bed. Blessings!
It's serious writing time. Finished the arts newsletter and it's off to printer in the morning. Also discovered that we are nearly out of business cards, so did a redesign on those too, and they'll also go to printer.
So tomorrow it's research and draft time on one big project. And Wednesday. And Thursday. Friday is meetings and stuff all day, and Saturday we're meeting some folks for a few hours that entails bringing food, although it won't be fancy.
But I feel better for having crossed two things off.
I'm still constantly practicing positive gratitude (although I'll admit I was challenged a time or two today), and projecting positive thoughts about what I want, picturing myself in that bright blue Jeep Liberty, for instance...*grin*
The Sopranos ended last night, "...not with a bang, but a whimper" (apologies to T.S. Eliot). millions were talking about the 30-odd seconds of black screen that made us think the network was down or that the recorder didn't get it all at first, and then when credits started rolling silently, we realized it was over. Worse than Bobby Ewing's dream!
And yet, on contemplation today and much discussion with Tony (my honey, not the Soprano), I'm okay with the ending. It was full of speculation, symbolism if you cared to see it, and possibilities for all the family members. So they live on, in some weird parallel universe-mind, I suppose, and there could be a movie (but I bet there won't be). In some ways this ending made them even more real than they seemed to be.
It was a fun evening, though -- a group of us who have been watching this season together made it a party with Italian food, wine, laughter, and a Sopranos quiz. We watched the very first episode of the series before we watched the very last one. There were lots of changes, and yet the same issues were there.
So it's on to the next to-do on the list. Right now, that's bed. Blessings!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Stringing words together
I've been writing pretty much all day -- it has been really fun, too.
Until the last four years when we moved to Red Bluff and began to sell real estate, I'd made a living writing and editing and marketing for various sectors -- nonprofit, public, corporate, church. I wrote marketing brochures, direct mail pieces, product instruction booklets, news releases, radio and video scripts, newsletters... even phone scripts and speeches. I named products. I came up with cutesy tag lines and slogans. Wrote packaging copy.
I can write about anything, pretty much any way.
So I've been working on policies and procedures for the new Real Estate Digest that our REALTOR association is about to publish, and I'm also the editor, so I wrote and polished the first editorial copy for the publication, which hopefully will be distributed around Round Up in a few weeks.
I love the whole writing process: consulting with whoever is requesting it (that could be a product manager, a division, a department, or a client), figuring out what format and style and tone will best deliver the message, perhaps working with a graphics department or simply creating design myself to enhance delivery, and then cogitating.
When I'm working on most projects, I often will do the research and then let it perk for a few days. It appears in my dreams. I talk parts of it through when I'm driving or gardening or cleaning. And finally I'll sit at the computer and most of the time the piece flows from my brain to my fingers without a lot of angst and contemplation because I've organized it and plotted it in my head.
I love finding just exactly the right word to express a feeling or a concept or an action. I use Merriam-Webster's online dictionary a lot -- just as I used to use the paper version. I still have some great reference books that jog creative thought, too.
Even in real estate I've done a good bit of writing -- our Web site, for instance, and weekly ads in both print and online publications. Direct marketing pieces, postcards (design too), and the mostly-monthly newsletter we do for the Chamber of Commerce's Good Morning Red Bluff meeting. (Plus lots of Arts Council newsletters and columns.) It's always a challenge to get inside the head of whoever my audience is and try to find just the right approach.
And then there's this blog -- a completely different kind of writing, one that is just fun, often therapeutic, and solely for me. It's made me think more seriously about writing a book, something I've always thought I'd do eventually. It may be that 'eventually' is turning into 'now.'
I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions. ~James Michener
Until the last four years when we moved to Red Bluff and began to sell real estate, I'd made a living writing and editing and marketing for various sectors -- nonprofit, public, corporate, church. I wrote marketing brochures, direct mail pieces, product instruction booklets, news releases, radio and video scripts, newsletters... even phone scripts and speeches. I named products. I came up with cutesy tag lines and slogans. Wrote packaging copy.
I can write about anything, pretty much any way.
So I've been working on policies and procedures for the new Real Estate Digest that our REALTOR association is about to publish, and I'm also the editor, so I wrote and polished the first editorial copy for the publication, which hopefully will be distributed around Round Up in a few weeks.
I love the whole writing process: consulting with whoever is requesting it (that could be a product manager, a division, a department, or a client), figuring out what format and style and tone will best deliver the message, perhaps working with a graphics department or simply creating design myself to enhance delivery, and then cogitating.
When I'm working on most projects, I often will do the research and then let it perk for a few days. It appears in my dreams. I talk parts of it through when I'm driving or gardening or cleaning. And finally I'll sit at the computer and most of the time the piece flows from my brain to my fingers without a lot of angst and contemplation because I've organized it and plotted it in my head.
I love finding just exactly the right word to express a feeling or a concept or an action. I use Merriam-Webster's online dictionary a lot -- just as I used to use the paper version. I still have some great reference books that jog creative thought, too.
Even in real estate I've done a good bit of writing -- our Web site, for instance, and weekly ads in both print and online publications. Direct marketing pieces, postcards (design too), and the mostly-monthly newsletter we do for the Chamber of Commerce's Good Morning Red Bluff meeting. (Plus lots of Arts Council newsletters and columns.) It's always a challenge to get inside the head of whoever my audience is and try to find just the right approach.
And then there's this blog -- a completely different kind of writing, one that is just fun, often therapeutic, and solely for me. It's made me think more seriously about writing a book, something I've always thought I'd do eventually. It may be that 'eventually' is turning into 'now.'
I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions. ~James Michener
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Between the lines
It feels like everything is on hold, waiting...
Waiting for rain. Waiting for spring. Waiting for the real estate market to get better. Waiting for the next holiday (which isn't until MAY!!! for those of you who have regular jobs where you get days off).
I am so totally right here and now about everything -- not that it's a bad way to be, but I don't seem to be able to think about stuff in either the past or the future other than to note it on the calendar.
It's been one of those nose-to-the-grindstone weeks, where I'm working on the computer for hours, doing layouts, designs, twiddling and fiddling with elements, comparing, revising. And investigating some freelance writing possibilities, which of course entailed completely revising my resume. And always checking out real estate and working on marketing our listings and searching for places to advertise some of them. I feel very focused...okay, somewhat obsessed. I dream about my to-do list when I finally manage to get to sleep (but if I take a Tylenol PM, I'm just a zombie until after noon). My neck is stiff, my joints are creaky, I need to walk in the mornings but I'm also trying to get things done and checked off.
~~whine~~~
The little tree that always leafs out first is leafing...just barely, but there are definitely leaves popping. And while we may have more rain, the real winter weather is likely over. In fact, I bought seeds the other day -- lettuce, sugar snap peas, spinach, onion -- and would like to get part of the garden prepped this weekend maybe so I can start the cooler weather crops even though the last frost date is not until April 15. By the time I got the garden in last year, it was too late for peas and onions, and just borderline for lettuce.
I'm still planning to make those curtains, maybe replace the chair cushions, finish framing and hanging photos, cleaning parts of the house that haven't been touched in too long, and going through my closet to take to either Act II or Salvation Army. That's after I finish all the computer work. The freelance ops. Cleaning my hideously messy desk.
I'm living these days between the lines -- fully focused, but not mindfully moving. I'm doing, not being. I'm getting a little tired of it, but I also can't stop....
My favorite time of day is bedtime, when I ease into the flannel sheets, sink into the bed, and pick up my book. I love having Tony snug against my side, and the cats in their usual sleeping places on the bed. It's quiet, warm, and I can indulge in my favorite activity -- reading-- without feeling like I should be doing something else.
I hate not going to sleep quickly and hearing the clock hit 2 a.m. or even 3....
This too shall pass.
May you sleep peacefully. May you find a joyous moment in every day. May you be grateful for your blessings.
Me too.
Waiting for rain. Waiting for spring. Waiting for the real estate market to get better. Waiting for the next holiday (which isn't until MAY!!! for those of you who have regular jobs where you get days off).
I am so totally right here and now about everything -- not that it's a bad way to be, but I don't seem to be able to think about stuff in either the past or the future other than to note it on the calendar.
It's been one of those nose-to-the-grindstone weeks, where I'm working on the computer for hours, doing layouts, designs, twiddling and fiddling with elements, comparing, revising. And investigating some freelance writing possibilities, which of course entailed completely revising my resume. And always checking out real estate and working on marketing our listings and searching for places to advertise some of them. I feel very focused...okay, somewhat obsessed. I dream about my to-do list when I finally manage to get to sleep (but if I take a Tylenol PM, I'm just a zombie until after noon). My neck is stiff, my joints are creaky, I need to walk in the mornings but I'm also trying to get things done and checked off.
~~whine~~~
The little tree that always leafs out first is leafing...just barely, but there are definitely leaves popping. And while we may have more rain, the real winter weather is likely over. In fact, I bought seeds the other day -- lettuce, sugar snap peas, spinach, onion -- and would like to get part of the garden prepped this weekend maybe so I can start the cooler weather crops even though the last frost date is not until April 15. By the time I got the garden in last year, it was too late for peas and onions, and just borderline for lettuce.
I'm still planning to make those curtains, maybe replace the chair cushions, finish framing and hanging photos, cleaning parts of the house that haven't been touched in too long, and going through my closet to take to either Act II or Salvation Army. That's after I finish all the computer work. The freelance ops. Cleaning my hideously messy desk.
I'm living these days between the lines -- fully focused, but not mindfully moving. I'm doing, not being. I'm getting a little tired of it, but I also can't stop....
My favorite time of day is bedtime, when I ease into the flannel sheets, sink into the bed, and pick up my book. I love having Tony snug against my side, and the cats in their usual sleeping places on the bed. It's quiet, warm, and I can indulge in my favorite activity -- reading-- without feeling like I should be doing something else.
I hate not going to sleep quickly and hearing the clock hit 2 a.m. or even 3....
This too shall pass.
May you sleep peacefully. May you find a joyous moment in every day. May you be grateful for your blessings.
Me too.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Where do we go from here?
The new year -- any new start -- brings with it some analysis about where you are and what you're doing, and if you want to keep doing what you're doing.
We were talking about that last night. It was four years ago today that we moved here from the Bay Area because we wanted more of a quality of life than what we had. We wanted to make the most of every single day that we have together. Working 10 hour days at high-stress jobs in the Bay Area was not the way to do that.
We'd talked about what we wanted to do and where we wanted to go "after" those careers came to an end -- and being in high tech corporate environments where reorganizations and layoffs came with great regularity, we knew that could be any day.
There are some good books out there about finding your passion, living your dream life, making a life while making a living. We read a bunch of them. And talked. A lot.
And it resulted in our move to Red Bluff, changing careers, changing everything about how we'd lived before. We'd do it again in a heartbeat.
But you don't just stop growing and changing and evaluating even when you're very happy with what you have (and we are thankful every single day).
In the Feb. 2 issue of Woman's Day magazine, there is an article about "what I want next" and a process to help you get there. It's amazingly simple. While I couldn't find a direct link to the article, this site has the bones of the process. (Cathy Bonner, the author, also has a Web site where she sells and promotes her book.)
I've been thinking about it ever since I read about it. Although you're supposed to spend only minutes answering the questions and formulating goals, I've found that the questions are following me through the day and giving me some insights into where I want to grow, if not answers just yet.
If you try it, let me know what you think. More to come....
We were talking about that last night. It was four years ago today that we moved here from the Bay Area because we wanted more of a quality of life than what we had. We wanted to make the most of every single day that we have together. Working 10 hour days at high-stress jobs in the Bay Area was not the way to do that.
We'd talked about what we wanted to do and where we wanted to go "after" those careers came to an end -- and being in high tech corporate environments where reorganizations and layoffs came with great regularity, we knew that could be any day.
There are some good books out there about finding your passion, living your dream life, making a life while making a living. We read a bunch of them. And talked. A lot.
And it resulted in our move to Red Bluff, changing careers, changing everything about how we'd lived before. We'd do it again in a heartbeat.
But you don't just stop growing and changing and evaluating even when you're very happy with what you have (and we are thankful every single day).
In the Feb. 2 issue of Woman's Day magazine, there is an article about "what I want next" and a process to help you get there. It's amazingly simple. While I couldn't find a direct link to the article, this site has the bones of the process. (Cathy Bonner, the author, also has a Web site where she sells and promotes her book.)
I've been thinking about it ever since I read about it. Although you're supposed to spend only minutes answering the questions and formulating goals, I've found that the questions are following me through the day and giving me some insights into where I want to grow, if not answers just yet.
If you try it, let me know what you think. More to come....
Monday, November 08, 2004
Passings
I marvel at the first of every month that it's here, that time goes so quickly the older I get.
Events this last week have made me do that, too--observe again how quickly things come and go.
Presidential elections: I remember the election of 1968, in which I missed voting (age was 21 then) by a mere two weeks, but I got special permission from the Dean of Students to stay out of the dorm until midnight-1 a.m. or so. I was news director at KMOE, our campus station, the first woman on the (paid) executive staff, and we covered the results. It was a very big deal on all counts, and I worked very hard to report the results from a professional, neutral viewpoint.
I supported George McGovern in 1972, and watched with tears in my eyes his defeat with a fellow AAUW member after our monthly meeting in my little Missouri town.
I remember voting for Jimmy Carter, with my baby girl in my arms.
Coursework: I finished today the second of two required courses for my real estate license, and wonder how it is that I've worked as an agent for nearly 18 months already. I can account for it all, transaction by transaction, but it's gone so quickly. We've been here nearly two years, in our house!
People: My frail little mother ended up in the hospital Friday -- first time in 2 years. She's okay and will go back to the nursing home soon, but she never comes back quite all the way. I remember so clearly how she was at MY age -- how active, busy, involved, pretty. It's hard to think I'll be 57 in just two weeks, and she's already 83-close-to-84. And it's been five years since Daddy died. (I still talk to him.) Two of their friends died this last week, too, and while I know in my head that dying is a part of the circle, it is hard to think of a world without these people in it.
It's fall here--another passing of the season, from hot and dry into cool and damp, from swamp cooler to wood stove, and it was within the same week that it happened! Christmas will be here and gone too soon.
And more: You can't MAKE people see reason and a good path, and I still (forever) have trouble with that. Egos get in the way of good judgement, and tempers flare. Makes me sad.
Our kittens are growing up: the inside boys were neutered last week. When they came to us, they couldn't have been much more than 4-5 weeks old -- tiny kittens dumped by the railroad tracks.
Makes me want to put my foot out and drag it, to slow things down a bit. I want to savor people, events, places, things a little more than I seem to have time to do. I want to hold them close in my mind's eye so I can go back to them when they're gone. I do that some now, but I want to do it more.
Events this last week have made me do that, too--observe again how quickly things come and go.
Presidential elections: I remember the election of 1968, in which I missed voting (age was 21 then) by a mere two weeks, but I got special permission from the Dean of Students to stay out of the dorm until midnight-1 a.m. or so. I was news director at KMOE, our campus station, the first woman on the (paid) executive staff, and we covered the results. It was a very big deal on all counts, and I worked very hard to report the results from a professional, neutral viewpoint.
I supported George McGovern in 1972, and watched with tears in my eyes his defeat with a fellow AAUW member after our monthly meeting in my little Missouri town.
I remember voting for Jimmy Carter, with my baby girl in my arms.
Coursework: I finished today the second of two required courses for my real estate license, and wonder how it is that I've worked as an agent for nearly 18 months already. I can account for it all, transaction by transaction, but it's gone so quickly. We've been here nearly two years, in our house!
People: My frail little mother ended up in the hospital Friday -- first time in 2 years. She's okay and will go back to the nursing home soon, but she never comes back quite all the way. I remember so clearly how she was at MY age -- how active, busy, involved, pretty. It's hard to think I'll be 57 in just two weeks, and she's already 83-close-to-84. And it's been five years since Daddy died. (I still talk to him.) Two of their friends died this last week, too, and while I know in my head that dying is a part of the circle, it is hard to think of a world without these people in it.
It's fall here--another passing of the season, from hot and dry into cool and damp, from swamp cooler to wood stove, and it was within the same week that it happened! Christmas will be here and gone too soon.
And more: You can't MAKE people see reason and a good path, and I still (forever) have trouble with that. Egos get in the way of good judgement, and tempers flare. Makes me sad.
Our kittens are growing up: the inside boys were neutered last week. When they came to us, they couldn't have been much more than 4-5 weeks old -- tiny kittens dumped by the railroad tracks.
Makes me want to put my foot out and drag it, to slow things down a bit. I want to savor people, events, places, things a little more than I seem to have time to do. I want to hold them close in my mind's eye so I can go back to them when they're gone. I do that some now, but I want to do it more.
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