The Decade that Was

Things that happened this decade:

Moved to a new city, left a job for another; laid of from job, found a job laid of from job (the previous three all in one week); found a job, left job for a better one, whole lotta people died, went to Europe 6 times, left job for a better one, moved to a new city, finished my degree, laid off from job, discovered Whatever column, moved to a new city, still looking for job.

In between I fell in love, fell out of love, met amazing people, saw amazing things, read some pretty good books, read some okay books, stopped reading two awful books. Learned about wine, spent time with good friends, had some fun, some heartache, some heart-stopping moments, had some heart-wrenching moments. A lot of lessons learned, and a lot of experience gained.

Came out of the other side alive. All in all I can't complain.

What We Look Like to Other People

An old high school acquaintance contacted me tonight, somewhat out of the blue. She was probably my closest friend at that time; we were two parts of a triumvirate of girls, kind of geeky, kind of outsiders and yet proud of that status. I went off to university, she got married, the third faded from view as well. In any case we were doing the thing that you do when you reconnect with someone from your past - trade histories, trade current events, basically catch each other up. And as I read my note to her, a response to the very innocent question "what are you up to?" I wondered what she would think as she read it.

Because in my view, I sounded either like the devil-may-care, leaf in the wind, adventurer; or else like a total loser mooching off friends and relatives. I imagine that the reality is that I will come off somewhere in the middle of that. At the same time, I am sure she is wondering what it is I make of her and her choices in life. They are, I imagine, good choices for her. She sounds happy and proud of her family, which is no mean feat.

But I wonder how much we try to sugar coat it for others. No really, I'm fine, no worries, not a care in the world, couldn't be happier, said in much less bald terms. Because we fear that we don't measure up - as is evidenced by my immediate assessment that I either sound really happy or like I am one step away from pushing a shopping cart filled with all my worldly belongings.

It brought me to mind of another such encounter, oddly enough this old and dear friend was there too, now that I think of it. It was at my ten year reunion, surrounded by people who were finishing doctoral programs, or whose professional careers were really taking off, I was asked what I had been up to. I listed the string of things I had been doing, made some off the cuff remark about how I seemed to change not just jobs but entire careers every two months, and felt like an idiot among all these people. But then a woman whose life I very much envied (she was finishing her doctorate at Stanford!) sighed and said, "wow, what an interesting life you are having. I feel so boring, all I've done since graduation is go to school."

These always seem to come as timely reminders for me. A reminder that the mirror I hold up to look at myself is often much harsher than what others see when they look at me; it is a softer light and one that I think I need to see myself in more often.

What is the Self Worth?

As days drag into weeks and weeks drag into months of this period of unemployment, I begin to question why so much of our self worth is tied up in what we do. It came to me this evening when I had yet another of those lovely emails that start out "thank you for your interest in..." and end with "decided to pursue other candidates." Yes, at least the company is taking the time to let me know and I appreciate it. But when the application was made late on a Saturday and the response comes early on a Sunday, you just know that no human has looked at your resume. It makes me angry. And hurt. And frustrated. Once again I am being rejected out of hand. Because...wait for it... I am apparently rejectable, apparently worthless, apparently useless. Because I am unemployed and that makes me a loser.

Whoa - wait! How did I get from one computer spitting out my resume to being worthless? Seriously - how does anyone make that kind of leap of reasoning, wholly without net or safety harness? I think we all do. For various reasons. We don't have the title, or the success or the position we envisioned - or worse yet - that we think we are supposed to want. But then throw in a lay off, the rigors of that weekly unemployment filing with the endless questions, the log of jobs applied for and the feeling of suspicion that surround it and suddenly it can be very hard to haul yourself out of bed in the morning.

I am unemployed, laid off from a company that was seriously foundering. I wasn't fired due to some heinous mistake, or due to an overwhelming series of small but consistent goofs. It just happened. To me and a large number of my fellow citizens. But what I am not is a loser, a slacker, a dolist, or even that currently trendy term - a victim of the current economic crisis. So I choose to not believe that I am somehow worthless because I didn't happen to hit enough of the key words in my resume to make a computer happy.

I expected that there would be a certain level of rejection. I never expected that I would get the first job I applied for. So now I fight the cumulative effect of it all. I am so much more than what is scribbled onto two sheets of paper. All that was passed over was a list of my previous jobs, a sampling of some of my work accomplishments, and some nice formatting. It wasn't an indictment of who I am.

The View from the Other Side

Last week was a bit emotional for me. A lot of changes, some expected, some out of the blue. I packed up my life - again (amazing how much stuff I can live without!) and drove south to the Bay Area. My day to day life has a surreal quality about it now, packing up my stuff, driving two days through mountains, snow and olive trees - just another day. It is easy to fall into that routine of no routine and begin to believe that this here, this is normality.

As I settled into yet another spare room, battling with a cold (sniffling and sneezing and gasping for air are hardly the foundations for insight and inspiration), I began to question if anything was ever going to be even a pale imitation of what my life has been for the last decade. Not in a 'woe is me' kind of way, but more in a 'hey I wonder if that shirt comes in any color other than mustard' sort of way. Philosophical, detached, neither sad nor despairing, but not motivating and uplifting either.

Then it happened, a friend dropped a line - she had just been laid off. This is a lovely woman who has done her level best to keep in touch since my 'separation' from the company. One of the only ones to have done so. I was floored. She is a fixture, or was fixture. And now she too is on the bread lines, as it were. What was interesting to me was my reaction. I felt happy for her. Happy? Really? She just lost her job.

Yes. Happy. Because she was good and truly stuck there. A smart, savvy woman capable of so much but allowed only to function in a very narrow window. The curse of being an admin. But now she is free. Free to find someplace that values her for her myriad of skills, a place that will be thrilled to have such a person and will do their damnedest to keep her. But wait - that applies to me as well. I was set free, too. Free to do all those things.

This morning I find that I have a renewed energy to look at those job openings. I find that I am more willing to be assertive in my cover letters. Looking at her layoff from this end of the spectrum has been enlightening indeed. Invigorating, even. Maybe we all need to be on the other side of the mirror every now and again, to get that view of ourselves.

Thankfulness

About six years ago now, I had an annus horriblus; two friends died of cancer, my nephew took his own life, my mentor died suddenly of a burst aneurysm, my grandmother died - and oh yeah, my cat of 21 years also passed away. A terrible year indeed. There were days I was afraid to answer the phone, days I was afraid to go outside, days I was afraid I would never be anything other than heartbroken and sad ever again. If the Universe was trying to teach me something, it had my attention.

I recall one day when I made what I thought was a humble request. I was standing at the beach at Torrey Pines, a lovely place between La Jolla and Del Mar - a wild and beautiful little stretch of beach where I often went to think. A storm had hammered the area most of the night before; the sky was a steely gray, as was the ocean; and the waves came in feral, foam tipped waves that perfectly matched the way I was feeling - tumultuous and angry. Standing there on the sand, chilled from the wind, feeling the spray of the water as it slapped onto the beach, I looked out at the water and asked for just a day. A day in which no one died, no one got ill, no bad news or upsets. Okay, yes, it was melodramatic, but it felt very real at the time. I figured a day was not to much to ask, just 24 little hours. It was, I reasoned, the lesson the Universe was trying to teach me - be thankful for those hours in which everything is fine.

It's been six years now. Six years filled with a lot of days in which everything was fine. I began to take it for granted again. Easy to do when things are good. Weeks go by with nary a negative event. Friends and family are healthy, the bills get paid, vacations are planned and even sometimes taken. Thankfulness becomes complacency.

But tonight; of course it would be tonight; I am reclaiming that thankfulness. Because in the last year there have been a lot of bumps in the road. But for every bump, there has been a bright spot. A friend diagnosed with cancer this time last year has waged an epic battle and one year on is on the cusp of being free of the disease. I was laid off - but from a job that I didn't especially enjoy but couldn't seem to muster the gumption to leave. So four months on, still unemployed I feel a renewed sense of finding and following my bliss; just to name a couple of the biggies - and in between there have been little moments of disappointment, always followed by aha moments of understanding. Everything happens for a reason.

So tonight I am thankful for so very many things. For a friend getting better, for new horizons, for good people, friends old and new, for new adventures, new lessons yet to be learned. I am thankful for big brothers, silly dogs, wonderful (and silly) nephews and a bright and beautiful niece. For all the hours in which things are good and calm and peaceful. And I am thankful for a rainy, stormy night in Portland that gave me the time to slow down and see it all.

If I Had a Million Dollars

What a fun game - to imagine what you would do if you had a million dollars. Anything you wanted (as long as it is legal, of course). Graduate school perhaps? Buy a great house? Get a new car? Hey - maybe travel for an entire year! Say a new country every month (okay, Spain and Italy get two months each - those places are huge!). Ride freighters all over the world. Buy an around the world ticket. Start a non-profit. Fund a non-profit. Start a business. Run for office The possibilities are endless, really.

What a dangerous game. Dangerous? Yes. Because if you could do that with a million dollars, why can't you do it now? I can hear the denials piling up in my brain as I type that. What about the debt I already have? How would I, could I ever do any of that without that money? Still, I have to believe that if I put my mind to it, I could do it. Maybe it would take some work and planning and research and organization. But I am pretty sure that I could do it. Sure, I might fall flat on my face during the execution of it, and yet wouldn't it be fun - or at least exhilarating - to try?

I keep reading all these books on the 'new economy,' ones that tell me that the time is now to take chances. Ones that say that rarely has there been a better time to start a business or take a risk. And maybe I am falling for the propaganda. Still, there is something in there that sounds plausible to me. That maybe, just maybe I don't actually need a million dollars, that I don't need to win the lottery to make my dreams come true. Maybe all I need is to actually act on my dreams. Really, it's kind of like the slogan you always hear for that self same lottery - you can't win if you don't play.

Decking the Halls

The Holiday season is fast approaching, and there seems to be very little anyone can do to get out of it's path. Don't get me wrong, I love big holiday dinners, can't get enough of turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie. I love little twinkling lights on trees and houses. I love the idea of wrapping gifts in beautiful, festive papers and ribbons. I love the idea of the holidays. I am not always so fond of the reality of them.

For some reason I have a picture of the holidays in my head that vaguely resembles something that Norman Rockwell would have painted. Snowy landscapes, children on sleds, a comely, slightly zaftig maternal type happily industrious in the kitchen while the handsome and grey templed paternal type cheerfully fixes some toy for a youngster. Sadly, my view of the holidays more closely resembles a cheesy 50's sit-com than reality has tried to teach me. The truth is that my holiday experiences have been Kafka-esque than Rockwell-esque (and by Kafka, it leans decidedly more towards The Trial than it does Metamorphosis. Seemed important to clarify that...).

I'm not trying to disparage big family holidays. I know people who have them and genuinely love them. However, such holidays just have not been the majority of my experience, and I am always surprised by how many people I know who feel the sane way. People who want family gatherings to be something more (or less) than what we end up getting. We walk in with the high hopes, only to leave feeling oddly disconcerted and unfulfilled.

Since I have finally faced the fact that the holidays for me are far more existential than quintessential, I am a happier person. Now that the unrealistic expectations have been set aside, holiday time has become much more enjoyable; in fact, the holidays that I spend alone are really quite lovely in my book. And that is what seems to baffle most everyone I know - why in heaven's name would anyone choose to be alone at Thanksgiving; or worse, at Christmas???

It is because in those moments I can bask in what I love about my family, what I love about my friends, and enjoy the quiet solitude of that affection and admiration. Move that Rockwell painting a little to the left and you will see the person sitting in the snowy clearing, alone and content, appreciating the hush of the forest, drinking in the landscape, just being in that moment. Happy because they know that the house is just over there; where there are family and friends and noise and chaos, ever changing but ever constant; still within reach, but at a happy distance. That person? That would be me.

Darwinism and the Job Hunt

Everyone thinks of Darwinism as survival of the fittest - the smartest, fastest, strongest survive while the weak are thrown to the lionesses pursuing the pack. But that isn't really what Darwin said. In fact what he said was:

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.”

Which is a very different thing. The fastest might outrun the lions and survive today, sure, but long term? It is the one that can adapt to the ever changing environment they live in. My point - and yes I do have one - is that in the current environment, we had all better be able to work with change. Because everything is changing all around us all the time. The way we work, the way we look for work, the way we communicate, the way we spend our leisure hours, the way we do pretty much everything.

The reason I am mulling this over arises from my own metamorphosis from employee to job hunter and possible entrepreneur. I am soaking in change to the point that my fingers are pruney. Normally change is not a big deal for me - I have picked up and moved three times now to new places with no job. I survived. I have been laid off a grand total of 6 times (including my infamous twice in one week incident), I have returned to school after a long hiatus, and I have made forays into foreign countries by myself. And while during the actual events there was some fear and upheaval and doubts, I did just fine.

So hear I sit, rounding out month 3 without a job (I count from the time my severance ended, and don't include my 5 weeks in Europe, because that would seem overly dramatic), working some stuff in the background for self employment and actively job hunting, and it is still a little scary. I know I will survive. Because I can adapt. I can change. That's my mantra for the week. Slightly reminiscent of Clint Eastwood in Heartbreak Ridge, but I will take it.

Sleepless Nights and Sneezing Fits

Funny what fall, stress and allergies do to you. Funny what we do to ourselves to augment stress. A friend of mine likes to tell me that stress is not "real." By which she means that it is all in our heads. And I guess it is, in a way. Still, that unreality triggers a really impressive biochemical reaction, one that expresses itself in different ways in different people. For me it is sleepless nights and allergies. Sure, yes, I know - fall and leaves and dust and all that. But it seems to be worse when I am fretting over something. Like being unemployed. Like living in my friends' spare bedroom. Like researching all the crap that goes into starting a new business.

So scratchy throat, itchy eyes, and sneezy me spends a lot of time gazing at the ceiling, fretting about all the stuff that I fret about. Which makes it worse. Which leads to more ceiling gazing. There are nights when I long for a switch to just turn my brain off. The endless loop of what ifs and concerns and oh mys and all of it, running around in my head like a group of demented hamsters tucked into those little clear plastic balls.

Sometimes I can derail myself, I find decorating fantasy homes is a good diversion. I have now decorated a dozen different places from a beach house in Croatia to a townhouse in Seattle. I have planned trips to Turkey, trips to Germany, trips to Costa Rica, and trips to visit friends. Sometimes it is enough just to try to list as many international cities as I can for each letter of the alphabet (yes, I have gotten all the way to Zagreb a few times).

There are upsides, of course. Having those quiet hours late at night, or early in the morning are often wonderful. There is something about early morning that is calming. There are nights when it allows me to finally finish a book, or spend time scribbling madly in a notebook (other diversions that help turn off the feedback loop in my brain). And sometimes it allows for a clarity of thought that surprises me. But it would be nice to not to have to yawn, sneeze and sniffle my way to get there!

I want a new party.

I am a liberal. There it is. I am a card-carrying member of the Democratic Party. I like most of what the Democrats stand for. But, God love 'em, the party makes me nuts sometimes. Friday I received an email from the Washington State Democrats. I get a goodly amount of email from them and most of it makes me crazy - Friday was the last straw.

It seems that the Mayor of Mt. Vernon, WA (pop. 31,000, a pretty little town about an hour north of Seattle), is giving the key to the "city" (which seems a fairly grandiose term for Mt. Vernon) to Glenn Beck, a conservative talk show host on Fox News who is primarily known for crying on cue and sounding outraged over pretty much everything liberal. The WA Dems are livid. They would like me to sign a petition to tell the town council of Mt. Vernon to "overrule" this presentation. It is useful to know that the Mayor of that burg - one Bud Norris - was a classmate of Mr. Beck's at Mt Vernon High School. Hence the "honor" he is bestowing.

So why am I ranting? Because there are important issues in this state and this country. Health care anybody? How about quality education? How about jobs? Just to name a few from the top of the list of REALLY IMPORTANT THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT. Glenn Beck getting the key to the city of Mt. Vernon? That isn't even on the list.

Why does this need to be explained to the folks in charge? It makes my head hurt to think of the amount of time it took to just send out the stupid email in the first place (and really, that was probably automated). Still, the Chairman of the State Party put his name on it, and even took the time to reply to my email back to them. A reply that equated Glenn Beck with Joe McCarthy. An obscure talk show host on Fox News with a US Senator, a comparison that is laughable.

Even on the home page of the State Party this is the headline. Healthcare is there, in the guise of telling the party faithful that we can all get wristbands that read "Health Care Now!" because as we all know, wristbands are the key to getting good policy passed. We have petitions for Mt. Vernon to consider, petitions that we are to send to All Our Friends. But for healthcare we have wristbands.

I wonder if it is time for a new political party. The Common Sense Party. Perhaps have some sort of test to join - or at least an essay. If you can't focus on the issues in rational, sensible way you can't join. Anybody interested?

New Ventures

After a month of job hunting; which, by the way, is a soul-killing way to spend your time; I have found that I keep coming back to the same thought. This thought has haunted me since the day I walked out of Zymo wondering what the heck I was going to do now, wondering why the universe had heaped this new challenge on to my plate. It is a thought I have talked out with my brother Erik, a thought that I have bounced off a couple of people who I trust (my 'wise council'), it is a thought that each time I think I have gotten around it, it pops up again. The thought? Why not work for - ME???

Once I got past the fantasy of sleeping late, going to the gym any time I wanted to (instead of dragging myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5 am), and taking meetings in my pajamas while West Wing played silently on the TV in the background; once I came back to the reality of how much time, effort and heartache running your own business really and truly takes - I figured no way. I can't do that. What about health insurance? What about benefits? What about paid vacation? What about a 401k? How would I live without those???

But this little voice in the back of my head keeps persisting on talking about it. "You have a really good idea," it says to me. "This is a great niche market," it adds on occasion. "You like what you would be doing and you like how it sounds," it chides when I try to rationalize my way around it. "DO THIS. DO THIS NOW!" It roars and pounds its fists on the ground when I try to ignore it.

So maybe I should. Maybe I really should. In fact, I think I will.

A Hunting We Will Go

Job hunting. Two words to strike fear into the hearts of the most stoic of humans. There is something about laying your work life bare for strangers to evaluate and pass judgement. Truthfully? It makes blind dates look like child's play.

Last time I did this, the last time I undertook a serious job hunt, it was both easier and harder. More printing and mailing out of resumes, waiting a couple of weeks for either a phone call or a letter. Something that told you that someone had actually looked at what you had produced, whether or not they liked it. Lately even that little courtesy is gone. You email attachments out into the ether, get the automatic reply and often hear nothing ever again. You begin to long for a rejection letter.

Granted, I haven't been at this that long. It is still early days and I am not truly worried. Though a little voice in the back of my head nags at me - "You're Unemployed." Thanks for the reminder. "No really, you don't have a job." I know. Thanks. "Seriously, you should be worried." And so it goes.

Mostly I can banish the voice back to the cave it dwells in, but there are days when it is a persistent little bugger. Mostly I am peaceful, mostly I know that the right thing will come along at the right time. Mostly I can send out my work (the results of much research, time and energy) and let it go, like releasing a dove and waiting patiently for it to return with an olive branch. Mostly I can keep myself busy and productive and engaged. Still. Still. Still.

Home again

After a wonderful week in New York city, I am "home" again. Another one of the lessons I have learned on this trip is that home is less about walls, and more about people. So home has become a movable feast for me.

Home is spending time with Erik coming up with ways to change the world.
Home is Bob tweaking my laptop and making sure everything is running right.
Home is Geoff talking about fish tacos, new sci fi and watching the food channel via the phone.
Home is laughing so hard with Beth that my stomach hurts
Home is shopping with Sharon, and dinner with her and Mitch.
Home is listening to Pete tell stories, hearing Teresa laugh and playing with the cats.
Home is finding out that Laura is beating the snot out of cancer.
Home is having a good book, my iPod, and a new adventure to plan.

Tonight, home is a warm apartment in Vancouver, where I can smell dinner on the stove (because Beth is a marvelous cook), listen to her and George talking the way only they do (which is because they have known each other forever and loved each other just about as long). It is being absorbed into a place where strays are not just welcomed, but made to feel that they were always supposed to be there.

I'm not sure where I will physically be in the next few months, but I have finally realized that no matter where that may be, I am already home.

Top of the Rock

Someone I respect immensely once said to me "do one thing every day that scares you." It sounded crazy. Why on earth would I want to do something that scares me? But watching him, watching how that adage changed him and made him stronger made me wonder if he wasn't on to something. So today I took that to heart and did something that scared me. I went to the Top of the Rock, which is the top floor of Rockefeller Center.

I am no fan of heights, I can rattle off a long and distinguished list of famous buildings I have not ascended. The Eiffel Tower, for instance. The Stratosphere in Las Vegas. I don't like heights. But today I managed to get myself into the elevator and then out of the elevator and out then out the doors and.... WOW. What an amazing view! I even went up to the upper deck. New York is an amazing place, and at ground level it is hard to appreciate the scale. The view from the top gave me a completely different appreciation of this city. The park, the river, the buildings that mark our history, they tell a tale from that height.

New York has been a revelation to me. I have toured the UN, the New York Public Library, Rockefeller Center and Grand Central; I have watched an amazing series of thunder storms pass over the place, done some people watching, a little shopping, a little gawking. And it has only been two days! Tomorrow it will be museums and the park, I think. And to top it off, I get to spend part of this with one of my favorite people.

It has been an amazing trip, I feel fortunate to have had the experience. Time to clear my head, face some fears, come to a better understanding of what I want to do next. I have learned that home is not a physical location, but rather a traveling feast of the people you want to spend time with. I have met some really wonderful people, seen some pretty wonderful things, and feel a new energy and purpose. And I promise to keep doing one thing every day that scares me.

Speed of Life

I love trains. I love the view out the window as the countryside passes before me. I love pulling into train stations and wondering about all the people getting on and off. I love eyeing little towns, random houses, glimpses of rivers as the train passes over a bridge; even the long stretches of nothing but bushes or walls that hide the view are intriguing to me. Right now I am on the train between Edinburgh and London, having just pulled into the station at York.

There is time to think on trains, there is time to be leisurely. There is no rush to see something, or do something or be somewhere. It is enforced leisure. Even the business people who have stepped on board today, dutifully unpacked laptops, unfurled “work” from briefcases, and tucked into their tasks seem to eventually slow down. The tapping of the keyboard becomes less frantic and soon you notice that they are taking long periods to stare out the window. I have to believe that they have stopped pondering the work dilemma in front of them and instead are lost in some daydream.

In the seat across the aisle from me, a woman has traded a journal she had clutched from the moment we left Edinburgh for a pink and white piece of knitting. Two rows up, the nattily dressed man (dark chalk stripe suit on a Saturday!) has turned away from the business section of his paper and is now concentrating on a crossword. Both have smiled almost apologetically to me when our eyes have met.

As for me, Jimmy Buffet is on the iPod, a half full bag of cashews and an empty can of Fanta orange are sitting on the tray next to me, and I ponder the sheep, the cows, the horses and the fields of lavender that are now zipping past. York is somewhere behind me, London lies somewhere in the distance, and I have another hour of this blissful confinement.

Edinburgh

The last three days have been spent in Scotland, in the most amazing town of Edinburgh. I have to love a place that has a huge castle looming over the city. It is just awe inspiring. It has been, wet, gray and windy - the perfect setting for exploring such a place. Yesterday I braved the crowds and saw the castle itself. I t is huge, formidable, just what a castle should be. The tourist hordes drove me away after two hours, but it was incredible. The sun broke out just so I could get some decent pictures. All in all, a pretty memorable experience. One of these days I am going to attend the Tattoo, which they are currently setting up for.

The Gathering of the Clans is taking place this coming weekend, and the result is that the place is packed. Tomorrow (Saturday) there is to be a March of the Clans up the Royal Mile from Holyrood (the Scottish Parliament) to the Castle. They are expecting 60,000+ to participate. The little guesthouse I am staying in is currently filled with Clansmen from afar. I feel a bit out of place ("So, yer here for the Gathering, aye?") I have met some really wonderful folks. There was the lovely woman who got me off the wrong bus and onto the right one upon arrival. There was Candy the recently retired nurse and her husband who hail from Sacramento. Lisa and Rob, brother and sister traveling - she too is a product of the failed economy; however she has the best line ever - she was downsized by Weight Watchers!!

In any event, things are winding down. I am still having a blast, but I am looking forward to time in New York with The Kent, and then back to Vancouver and the hospitality of Beth and George. Well - time to head back into the downpour. There is a city to explore!!

Always Walk on the Bright Side of Life

I have to admit that there has been a bit of a pity party in my head as I have undertaken this trip. Worries about jobs, worries about money, worries about family have cast a greater shadow than the storm clouds that have followed me from Lyon. What if's rain down like a monsoon and inventories of my failings blow about me like a newspaper in a windstorm. Not that I haven't had fun (thanks again Erik for your comments on changing your narrative!), not that I haven't enjoyed every day I have spent on this adventure. Still, and still.

Yesterday I had given in a bit to the PP, I was out wandering around the city kind of grouchy, kind of irritated with the world (damn kids, watch where you're going!) when I happened down a side street. Intermittent rain had driven most of the tourist hordes inside, but at an outdoor table under a little awning sat an elderly couple. They had to be in their 80's. She was dressed in a bright red dress with a matching jacket, he was nicely turned out in a dark suit with a gorgeous dark wood walking stick. A voice from behind me cheerfully called "Mary, there you are! And how are you today?" to which the elderly woman answered quite cheerfully "Grand, darling, just grand - and yourself?" the reply was "Aye, I'm grand." At which point a young woman, maybe 25, came around and sat at the table with these two. I went on my way, thinking of that greeting. Just grand.

Sure, it is easy to be down and worried and depressed and all of that. It is easy to play that endless loop of how bad things are at the moment (and easier to follow that down the rabbit hole of how much worse they are going to get in the future). But right now, at this moment, I'm just grand. I am in Ireland with all of its rich green grandeur. I have meandered the streets of Paris and Lyon. I have seen a stunning Celtic cross from the 11th century standing in the middle of a field. I have been to mass at Notre Dame and walked around breathtaking sculptures in the Petite Palais.

Soon I am heading towards London, and then home. And more grand experiences to follow both here, and there, and wherever I end up landing. This has been an amazing trip, and more over an amazing journey. Oddly, I don't feel like it is coming to an end, even though I will be back in the States in a little more than a week. I actually feel like it is just beginning. And that is just grand.

Putting a Cork in It

This afternoon I arrived in Cork. It is a lovely little town on the River Lee, that is a nice mix of old and new. My hotel looks right over the river, and is quite comfortable though labyrinthine in scope (the lift is a bit frightening, it makes an amazing array of noises that just don't sound good!). I had asked about Cork at the Tourist Information center in Dublin, mainly because I couldn't find a room in Galway (yes, I know, I am a bit bitter). The woman smiled at me and said "Well, yes, I suppose. But it's just another big city now isn't it?" "Oh." I thought "Another big city, hmmm." Then I consulted my Lonely Planet Ireland which tells me that Cork has a population of 119,000. Dublin has half a million. So I'm not sure if it qualifies as "another big city!" But I am learning that there is a bit of a rivalry between the two places, and it is amusing.

When I left this morning, the gentleman at the hotel asked where I was off to, I said Cork. His response? "Oh, really? It's a lovely place, quite a bit like here you know." When I arrived, the woman at the front desk asked (after establishing that I had been traveling in Ireland) "Where are you coming from then?" to which I said Dublin. "Ah" she replied, "Nice place, if you like that sort of thing." The Irish, it appears, are the masters of the backhanded compliment.

So after a very scenic and pleasant train ride, I grabbed a taxi at Kent Station (everywhere I go, that name appears); okay, I grabbed the taxi after I headed off in the wrong direction for the hotel and ended up having to turn around and trundle back to the station...), settled in at my hotel and then went out to explore. Cork loves music. In any way shape or form. In the short walk from the hotel to the tourist information office I passed a half dozen music shops. I was tempted by two absolutely beautiful mandolins. No, I know I don't play the mandolin. But still. I passed no less than that many buskers, and two different groups of dancing teenagers. Pretty wonderful.

I am told that the pubs here are filled with traditional music and I hope to sample some of that as well in this trip. Currently, however, I am sampling another wonderful aspect of Cork. Cheese. Yep. Cheese. Cork was the major butter producing center of this part of the world at one point. They even have a museum - the Cork Butter Museum. And now, all that dairy know-how has been applied to farmstead cheeses. YUM! Good stuff, highly recommend it.

Tomorrow I am off for some sight seeing. At the moment I am debating between a trip to Bantry and one to Kinsale. Monday I am on the road again. Still thinking about Belfast, even though the recent events have made me wonder if this is the right time. The 12th of July, Orangemen's Day, is the beginning of the traditional and political "marching season' in the North. This year there numerous skirmishes, some of which turned into riots in places like Omagh and Belfast. This has continued for the last few days, but seems to be settling down. It is sad, considering how hard so many have worked to bring peace to the area. Some folks just can't let it go, I suppose. So fingers are crossed that I might just be able to make a quick trip before heading back to London.

The Emerald Isle

So we have left sunny France and landed in Ireland. I am in Dublin, and have been for a week. Things got off to a rocky start but have since been just amazing. Dublin is an interesting place, full of contradictions and surprises. It is an odd mix of traditional and modern, both cosmopolitan and small town; tourists flock to the Temple Bar and Trinity, overflowing on O'Connell Street and the banks of the Liffey; locals grin and bear us with a warm smile and patient voice.

Little gems of parks seem to appear out of nowhere, and it is sometimes hard to tell if the "trad" pub you are passing has been here forever or is an overnight tourist concoction. It is a young town, filled with eager 20-somethings and world weary 30-somethings. It is easy to feel old here, but only for a moment as it is easy to feel young here as well; there is a timeless quality to the place.

Two day tours down, one an excellent Celtic Heritage tour run by the affable and knowledgeable Paul from Over the Top Tours. His day trip north of Dublin to the Sacred Valley of the Celts was perhaps one of the best tours I have ever taken. This man has the gift of gab, a natural story teller who loves what he does. It was fun, funny, and I learned more about the Celts and Celtic Christianity in one day than I ever thought possible. I have now been inside an iron age tomb, walked on the Hill of Kings and touched a breathtakingly beautiful stone Celtic Cross sitting in the middle of a field. The other was today, a tour of Wick low and Glendalough. Steve was lovely, and tried hard. Part of it was his audience (a mixed bag of young adventurers more interested in exchanging emails than history, and a family group from the Midwest. Oh, and me) part of it was just that Paul is a tough act to follow.

I am staying a couple of extra days, as there are some things I still want to do. Then possibly on to Cork. I have the misfortune of arriving at a time when a number of music festivals are on, so that my trip to Galway may have to wait to another time. There is literally no room at the inns (or the guest houses or the hotels I can actually afford). Then I will take a fast ferry across the Irish Sea to Wales and work my way towards London.

Roaming the Rhone

The Rhone region is just gorgeous. I have been spending some time exploring outside the confines of Lyon, and having a blast - so much so that I am staying a few extra days. Yesterday it was an exploration of the Croix-Rouisse where the silk workers lived and created gorgeous tapestries. It is now very much a working class area, a little worn at the edges, but with amazing views over the valley.

Today it was a venture to Vienne. Vienne was once the capitol of the Gallic Roman Empire. A massive town that straddled the Rhone within a massive wall built not for protection but for show and intimidation. Parts of the wall are still visible, especially where the cling to the hillside. The place was chosen probably because it was reminiscent of Rome - surrounded by five hills with a large river passing through. In the mid 1960's a new school was being built and during the groundwork a veritable archeological treasure trove was found. They are still excavating, all these years later, and are only about a third of the way done.

A Roman amphitheatre is still in use on the eastern side of the Rhone, and a lovely museum and archeological complex are the jewel of the right bank. I spent a very pleasant couple of hours meandering. The town is also home to two ancient churches, a large ruined castle that towers on a hill above town and a couple of huge chateaus that date back to around the 1300's. It is an interesting mix of ancient and modern (and a little of everything in between).

The town itself is charming, and I arrived on Market day - a street market that winds through the heart of the town. Everything from meat to lingerie are for sale. Fruits, vegetables, butchers, cheese sellers, book sellers, toy sellers, kitchen ware - you name it, it was there. And just because it was the fourth of July and I am an American abroad, I had my very own fireworks show in a spectacular thunderstorm. I decided to watch the spectacular from the vantage of a lovely cafe, enjoying a plate of carpaccio of beef in olive oil, a nice Cotes du Rhone and a salad verte. I could get used to this!

Stairs, stairs, and more stairs

Ah Lyon. It is hot, is muggy, it is glorious. Yes, as usual, I am traveling during a European heat wave. Thankfully I decided against the charming hotel that had no air conditioning and went for the charming (and somewhat more expensive) one that did. It has been a life saver.

Today I decided to head up to the Basilica Notre Dame de Fourviere. It perches high over the old town (Vieux Lyon), it's golden angel gleaming in the summer sun, the white walls seeming to almost sparkle. The funicular to Fourviere is not working, but the one to St. Just is. Hooray! On the map it isn't that far, and heck, you can take in the ruins of two Roman amphitheater on the way. Well, it wasn't exactly that close, and there were more stairs and hills to climb - but well worth the effort. The ruins are amazing and the museum built for them is pretty spectacular. The amphitheater, the larger of the two (the smaller was an Odeon, a theater used exclusively for musical performances) is still being used as a venue for performing arts. I watched a group of young dancers rehearsing for a bit.

Then on to the Basilica - more stairs, more hills and then this absolutely huge church. There are no less than four chapels - one downstairs (think basement), one upstairs - each with the vaulted naves, each with gloriously painted walls, spectacular stained glass, marble altars, and scores of renaissance paintings donated by grateful parishioners. It was stunning. But then - oh my. The view over Lyon, over the region really, was unbelievable. I doubt my pictures will do it justice, as there was a mighty humidity haze lingering over the area. Still. Wow.

With all this glory in front of me, and the notion that it was, after all, downhill; I decided to walk back. That too was pretty wonderful. The area below the Basilica is all in garden. Lovely little paths switchback down the hill, small arbors, little areas that lead to statues and benches just begging for you to sit and enjoy the sounds of birds, cicadas, and the rustling of the wind in the leaves. Stands of lavender, roses, other flowers; cheeky little birds that completely unafraid pop out of the bushes at odd points, it was just beautiful. Eventually you come back to civilization and are faced with the longest downhill flight of stairs. Ever. By the time I got to the bottom, I was ready for the Cafe Fichelle, their quiche Lorraine and salade verte, and okay, yes. A beer.

Lyon

I arrived last night after a beautiful TGV ride from Paris. The countryside is stunning, small towns, beautiful old farmhouses, fields and the ocassional herd of goats, sheep or cows. It almost feels like travelling back in time. Then you arrive in Lyon. It is the second largest city in France, but it is really a world away. I am in an area called the Perrache. And the station is appropriately called "Lyon Perrache" and is about 2 and half minutes from Lyon Part Dieux.

(note: when talking to the SNCF agent, even if he has the little British Flag over his head that indicates that he speaks English well enough to sell you a ticket, you will have to say "Lyon Perrache" at least three times. "Lay-ohn Pear esh" you say. "What?" he replies. You repeat, he repeats, you repeat and a light bulb goes on and he says "Ah! Lay-ohn Pear esh, Yes." Seriously. It happened just like that.)

But you cross the Rhone and arrive in this pretty little part of town. Broad pedestrian only walks, little back streets, incredibly expensive designer shops and a restaurant, cafe, tabac, bar, pub or sandwich shop about every 4 feet. Lyon is known as the- THE - place for cuisine in France. Celebrity chefs reign supreme here, and eating out seems not to be a passion as much as an imperative.

This morning I wandered the St. George district, thinking I would take the funicular up to the Basilica Notre-Dame de Fourviere, which sits like a gem high up the hillside. There are Roman ruins nearby and the view from either is said to be spectacular. Today the funicular was not functioning. Not to be deterred, I thought hey, there are streets and such here on my map that lead right there. Here is another tip - if something is high up a hill and has a funicular dedicated to getting people to and from it, those probably aren't streets, the are most likely stairs. Lots and lots of stairs. Stairs that wind around building so about the time you think, surely - surely this is it, you come upon more stairs. I gave up. Tomorrow the funicular may be running.

So the day was spent browsing the streets below the Basilica. Lyon is full of art and artists. Studios of potters, metal sculptors, painters; galleries with everything from the spectacular to the profane; I think the only thing I didn't find was glass blowing. Then again it was unbearably hot and humid today and I imagine glass blowers would take the day off in such weather. It was also apparently field trip day. Herds of small children herded by adults randomly yelling names and "attende!" while busily marking off sights. It looked like a huge scavenger hunt. A shopkeeper tells me that school is out on July 1, and this is the tradition for the last couple of days of school.

So tomorrow the funicular. Maybe some shopping. Perhaps a boat trip on the Saone (the river that is on the other side of the Perrache), then again, I have decided to extend here for an extra day, so there is time to do both. And maybe a trip to Burgundy.

Itineraries

Beth reminds me that I owe her an itinerary. So, such as they are, here are my travel plans:

Today (Monday, June 29) I am on my way to Lyon in a few hours. I will be there until the 2nd of July. There is a bit of a haze between the 2nd and the 8th. I wanted to go to Reims, but apparently so does everyone else as I am not finding rooms. At least not rooms I am willing to stay in. A castle for $2k a night (wonder why they aren't full??), hovels that look frightening even in their website beauty shots, and stuff so far off the beaten path that a car would be a must. Which still may be an option. Need to think about that...

However, on the 8th I need to be in London so that I can catch my flight to Dublin. I will be there for a week, home base in a self catering apartment not far from the infamous Temple Bar, Trinity University (home of the illuminated copy of the Book of Kells), and the Writer's Museum. I plan on many side trips to various places throughout the country.

Then it is on to Scotland where I will start my return to London for the trip home. Still working out the logistics of that. Is it a ferry from Northern Ireland? Is it a flight from Dublin? And do I go far to the north (Skye?) or more centrally (Inverness?) or head to Edinburgh? These are questions yet to be answered. I hope to make a stop in York as I am told that it is wonderful - Betty's for tea is supposed to be a must. Finally I will most likely spend my last two to three nights in London before heading to New York to partake in the hospitality of a good friend for a few days, and finally back to Portland to crash with Beth and George while I re-start the job hunt.

This is a new adventure for me in that I am normally much more organized on my trips. While I have been known to make last minute changes during the trip, I have never been this nebulous. It is somewhat liberating! Scary in a good way.

Impressions from a Sunday in Paris

Wandering Shakespeare and Co (amazing English bookshop across from Notre Dame) and hearing a woman genially harassing a poor Aussie student about what was wrong with his country. She sounded just like Francis McDormand in Fargo, and started with a rant about how “Obama is just ruining the economy. Next year we will all be huddled in our homes trying to figure out how to eat.” The young man was lovely, tolerant and patient.

Devouring a mushroom quiche and a small carafe of Chardonnay in an impossibly cute little place just around the corner from Notre Dame, but light years away from all the tourist oriented sandwich shops that crowd the area. Timbered ceiling, food arriving magically in a dumb waiter, tasty food and the New York Review of Books to browse. Life is good.

Sun worshipping Parisians crowded into a park near the Place de Vosges; lying on blankets, sitting in groups, munching on sandwiches or consuming glaces. Dosing, reading, chatting; couples, large gatherings of friends all out in the hot, muggy weather while children splash each other (and passersby) in the fountains and older people sit on benches in the shade of ancient trees that surround the place. There is an easy symmetry to the place.

Feeling competent enough to order “deaux boules a citron” at the ice cream (glace) stop just outside the park. Winning a smile and a “ma oui!” for the attempt.

Coming across a group of young people in a string octet (there were at least 8 of them) playing, appropriately enough, Flight of Bumble Bee at the hectic junction of 4 metro lines. Hordes of people stopping to listen and tossing coins in the open violin case.

Watching two dogs confidently board the metro with their people, politely sitting down for the ride and then trotting happily off at their stop.

An American in Paris

Wow, what a great couple of days it has been. First off, when travelling by, Eurostar from London to Paris, pay the extra to upgrade to "Liesure" class. Seriously. They bring you wine, they bring you food, they bring you coffee and you arrive in Paris sated and happy. It was glorious.

Secondly, when travelling from the US to Paris, try to get there without 45 intermediate steps. Like I did. Wow. I felt like I had circumnavigated the world when I finally got here. I arrived in Paris tired after two days of little sleep (but well fed) and then dragged my bag, computer, purse and self halfway across the northern section of the city to this charming little hotel. I was dirty, I felt gross, and yet still I was hit on. Granted, it wasn't the most flattering line ("no, it's okay, I am not faithful..." doesn't exactly engender trust, now does it?), but what it lacked in well, everything, it made up for in bad timing and bad directions.

After a good night's sleep I was up and at em the next morning, trekking (walking) from Gare St. Lazare to Place de Concord, La Petite Palace (amazing architecture), Musee d'Orsee; and eventually La Halles. Gathered my courage and went to what was a very popular local lunch place (yikes! no English spoken!) and managed to walk away with a lovely salad, a bottle of water and fabulous bread to be consummed in a park while watching a group of men play boules. By late afternoon I was again dog tired and dragged myself to the Metro and then back to the hotel.

This morning was another surprise. St. Chappelle and the Concierge (both interesting and beautiful sites, added to by the fact that there are some very handsome Gendarmes in this city and that just happens to be their headquarters...) started the morning, and then a quick walk over to Notre Dame. My last trip to Paris, we arrived too late to see the inside of the Cathedral. My plan was to get there early, avoid some of the crowds. What I didn't plan on was this was the annual ordination of new priests. Which explained the large screen outside and the massive crowds of people, police and tourists. I found a spot along the side, next to some very sweet teenage scouts who called me Madame and gave me a program, and watched it all unfold on the screen. Gorgeous music, much page\antry, and the usual Catholic aerobics (talk about dedicated, a group of nuns kneeled on the stone outside the Cathedral. It made my knees hurt to watch them).

So the Cathedral itself was closed until 4 pm, which allowed me to strike off and investigate new areas. I went through Ile St. Louis, the island directly east of Ile de Cite where the Notre Dame presides. Then on to Place de Vosges and a jaunt around the Marais. Fun, funky, colorful neighborhood with lots of little shops and galleries. It is also the center of Gay Paris, and this was their version of Pride Weekend - Solidays. So it was more colorful than usual! There was a wonderful air of fun and excitement that permeated the area.

All in all a good day! Now to rest my tired, aching feet and plan my attack for tomorrow. And maybe slip out for a bite here in a moment...

A Travelling I Shall Go

I am sitting here in a hotel room in Seattle, downloading Skype to my laptop, taking deep calming breaths and ready to collapse into bed. Tomorrow morning, bright and early I am off to London. And then to Paris. A week and a half or so in France. Four nights in Paris, three nights in Lyon, three or four in Reims (champagne - YUM), then back across the Channel for a couple of days in Dover and on to Dublin for a week in a nice little apartment just off Temple Bar.

Then to... well I don't know. Scotland probably. This thing has changed and changed and changed again. But it has truly become my trip. Mine and mine alone. Lots of angst and second thoughts (and third and fourth), but now it is time to just go and wing it. I will try to update here a couple of times a week. Don't count on pictures, because I realized on the train today that I left the cable for the camera at Beth's.

Please feel free to comment, cajole, mock, or whatever. I would love to hear from you all. It is really another part of this journey. It is not that I am looking for answers on this trip, but more like a vacation from all the questions. A chance to just have some fun, drink some good wine, eat some good food and see the world a bit. And a little research on the side - for me.

See you in Paris...

Travel Planning

I want to spend a month in Europe. The plans are somewhat nebulous - fly to London, meet friends in Prague, fly home. I have dates for the outbound (at least between London and New York), I know what dates to be in Prague. Everything else is still in the etherworld. Today I sat down to book the flights from Portland to New York. I tried several iterations, and still could not bring myself to book the flight.

Partly it is sticker shock. Partly it is denial, I suspect. I can't really be going to Europe for a month. Not really. That would be frivolous, that would be expensive, that would be squandering. Besides - go to Europe for a month ALONE? Who does that? Well, I do. I've done it before. I will probably do it again - after this trip. So what is it about this trip that is bugging me. I suspect it is because I should be spending that time looking for a job. Like I can't do that in Europe - in this day of the Internet and everyone preferring on-line applications (except, of course the Federal Government!) And what if - what if one of those handful of jobs I have already applied for comes through - then what?

What it comes down to is that it is all excuses for being afraid. I will have a grand time. I know it. I always do. When I sit down with my guidebooks and let my brain run free, I am thrilled and excited and happy. I am going to Europe for a month. I am going to Paris and Prague and Frankfurt. Or something like that. Okay - definitely Prague. And Paris. And Eppernay (because that is where Champagne is made). Because I am going to Europe. For a month. I am going.

Bon Bons and Daytime TV

How do people do this? It has been only two weeks and even with a trip, scheduling my days, seeing friends, and planning my trip - oh my. I am caught up on the West Wing. I have played every iteration of solitaire. I have applied for jobs and worked on my resume. And that was Thursday. Argh!

I used to think that it would be so great to not have to work. To be one of the women who shop and lunch and basically have the easy life. I would go to the gym whenever I wanted, I would have time to do the things I really wanted to. It would be idyllic. Except that I haven't gone to the gym yet. I have spent endless time in front of my computer looking at websites for job hunters. I have answered emails and perused job boards and yes, played games.

I have to refine my schedule. I have to find a routine. I have to find something to do with my time! Sigh.

Sunny Days

It was a beautiful day today, the kind of day where the city seems to sparkle. It was warm and wonderful and you could actually believe that spring has arrived. The winter here was particularly harsh - snow like Seattle has not seen in a long time paralyzed the city just before Christmas. Followed by more snow and hail and generally very cold days. All the way up to May. So it was nice to have the sun.

Why talk about the weather? Because today I am somewhat sick of talking about all the stuff that is going on in my head. I have a regular mob in there, yelling at each other, offering advice, chattering away. Telling me what to do, telling me all my shortcomings, trying to buck me up; conflicting voices that are driving me, quite frankly, a little nutty. So I went out and walked today. Walked downtown, wandered about and just didn't think about resumes or cover letters, didn't think about open positions and if I am networking enough.

Thought about where I want to go on my trip for a bit. That was nice. Thought about the story I am writing, and that was good. Talked to a nice couple from Connecticut who had just gotten off a cruise to Alaska. Talked to a Russian gentleman who was lost and trying to find the convention center. Talked to a clerk from San Diego who had just moved here. In short I didn't think about how my life is in flux and how unsettled I feel about it. I didn't think about what was going to happen come August. I didn't think about where to store things or where I am going to live or how long I have to pack things up. It was delightful.

Bragging Rights (and Wrongs)

List 20 accomplishments. Twenty. Accomplishments. Wow -really? That was the assignment from the career coach. No, it will make sense, she assured me. I wasn't worried about making sense. I was worried about twenty accomplishments. Me - twenty accomplishments. I've done some pretty neat things, sure; I've been known to pull off a minor coup or two when the chips were down. But twenty accomplishments? Isn't that bragging? Isn't that rather immodest?

Why is it so hard to talk about what we do right, but incredibly easy to list off 200 things we have done wrong? As I sit here, I can hear those voices - teachers, parents, grandparents - who were so quick to hush me whenever I thought I had done something especially clever, something good, something right. The dry sarcasm, the gentle put downs, even the outright anger that too often met any declaration of a victory. I'm not alone in this. I hear it from friends, I see it in friends; compliments are met with a deflection, greetings are returned with some long suffering reply. "How are you today" is most often answered with "hanging in there" or "not bad for a Monday" as if we are afraid of being happy.

Heck, if we can't even admit to feeling particularly peppy, or that we like our latest hair cut, or that we had fun last weekend how do we ever manage to write a resume? Because that is all about our accomplishments. No wonder it is so hard to find a job for some of us.

The story we tell about ourselves should be be balanced, certainly. But the story of our lives should leave a little room for bragging. A lot of room for bragging, really, because if we did it and did it well, it isn't bragging. It is just the truth.

Looking Backward, Looking Forward

The last two days have been focused on the past and the future. In some ways it is easier to look there then to actually see where I am right now. Because right now I am unemployed and there are so many contingencies around that for me that it is sometimes overwhelming. So I look backward at all the things I have done hoping for some inspiration.

I have been a zookeeper, a travel agent, a political campaign assistant, a retail sales clerk, a copy reader for a newspaper. And then somewhere along the line I became an admin. It wasn't a conscious choice, it just kind of happened. A temp job to get through school became an ad hoc career. When that happened the girl who had been a zookeeper, a travel agent, etc. seemed to disappear. That was the girl who had a lot of dreams about her future, the girl who was going to change the world, or run a zoo, or create really awesome education programs for museums. I have to give her credit, she hung in there for a few years, waving from the back row and even daring to shout out a few ideas now and again. But somewhere along the path she was shown the door (she is still hanging around outside, occasionally pounding on the door, but largely ignored).

Then there is the future tense, daring to dream all those dreams about what to do next. Researcher, policy wonk, corporate communications - writer? It is a bit frightening to dream, though. That, historically, hasn't worked so well for me. Probably because the bouncer who showed the aforementioned zookeeper girl the door does a really good job at hushing the gallery. Dreams? Really? Are you crazy? That's absurd! No good will come of that, move along, move along, nothing to see here...

Thus I stand here at that gate. Looking backward at the times I dared to dare and how much fun it was, wondering where I ever got the gumption to do it all. Looking forward across the chasm that separates me from the future and wondering how I can get over, under, around or otherwise through it. And yet, fearful of letting go of the gate, taking that next step. But I made it this far, I made it to the gate - yes?

"Supposed to's"

In the movie Chocolat, Judi Dench tells her sweet grandson that he shouldn't worry so much about "supposed to's." Ms. Dench plays a fiercely independent woman who, well, dies in the end; albeit on her own terms (fiercely independent women often die in movies, I think it is a cautionary tale - but that is a topic for another post). Even though she comes to a bad end, her advice is pretty sound. I know I spend a lot of time on supposed to, and I wonder if I should.

Right now I am supposed to be looking for a job. I am supposed to be depressed and worried over my future. I am supposed to be willing to do anything as long as it means a paycheck and healthcare coverage. Right now I am also supposed to be re-inventing myself, I am supposed to be taking time off to grieve (presumably for my now dead career), and I am supposed to be thinking about what I REALLY want to do with my life.

Then I get a call from my brother tonight and he reminds me that we are supposed to be true to ourselves. Actually what he said was that we needed to tell ourselves the truth about what we want. Which makes this a "should" instead of a "supposed to." What a difference a few syllables and consonants make, eh? Because the truth is that there are a lot of things I want to be doing - first and foremost is writing. There are a lot of things I never want to do again (like manage someone else's calendar). And the truth is that there is a huge gap that I am not at all sure how to bridge between those two. So instead, I avoid telling myself the truth.

Instead I smile at people and tell them "that sounds interesting, I should look into that" even if I would rather gouge my own eyes out with a toothpick . Because I am supposed to (look into the job, not the eye thing; just want to be clear). And when, miracle of miracle, someone who is supposed to know such things says to me "well, you're a writer" I smile and demur and wonder how the hell she got that notion. Because she's not supposed to. And neither am I. But you know what? The truth is that I should.

Here We Go

Today was the first day of not working. It has been a while since I didn't have a place to go in the morning; a reason to roll out of bed, stagger to the kitchen and make coffee. No rushing out the door, late again; no decision on what to wear today. I am unemployed.

It was a good run, Zymo was a great experience. More than the routine, more than the work, I will miss the camaraderie of the group and the fun, the silliness, the general genial insanity of my coworkers. There were and are some really big brains and very delightful people there. That is what will always stand out for me about my time there.

So now what? Everything I've read, been told, heard, boils down to taking the next step. You have to keep putting one foot in front of the other to get to your destination. So this is going to be about the journey, about the very next step - and then the one after that. Because, after all, what is the point of making the journey if you don't take the time to enjoy the scenery along the way? Each step is a chance to take in a new view, maybe see something from a different vantage point, maybe learn something new, maybe meet a new character.

There are a lot of paths open right now, and I have no lack of volunteer guides. I am confident that there will be missteps, wrong turns, slips, and a lot of looking at maps. Then again, the best trips I have ever taken have always had at least one episode of getting lost. And to be honest, the back roads tend to be more scenic. Here we go.