That Stamp on my Forehead

I fell into a job as an administrative assistant.  For years I had done any number of jobs, from zookeeper to travel agent to political activist; my twenties were a jumble of jobs that had no real rhyme or reason.  Then I landed a job as an administrative assistant through a temp agency.  It was a good job and the pay was phenomenal.  For a girl who had dropped out of university six credits shy of her BS in Microbiology, I was stunned by the salary I was making.  

Not only that, the work was interesting.  I did a little of everything, project management, event planning, some research here and there, the variety was enough to keep my head in the game all while I looked for jobs in what was my passion.  I wanted to be a zookeeper, a real, big-league zookeeper.  The money allowed me to make the weird weekend trips to Topeka Kansas and Orange County to interview for jobs.  But none of them ever came through.  So I kept on being an administrative assistant.

I moved to Seattle and took a job with a temp agency that again put me in an administrative position, which lead to a full time job with a financial planner; an absolute harridan who promised me bonuses and perks that just never seemed to materialize.  So I left that one and took another, this time with a grocery store chain.  There was lots of room to advance if I wanted it.  And while I did meet two of my favorite people in the world, it just didn’t work out.  But I went to work for an engineering firm, where again variety became the spice of my life. 

I did land use surveys, I helped to write environmental impact statements, I single handedly rebuilt a solid waste management plan that had been destroyed by a break in – I literally retyped and re-formatted the entire document, even recreating the figures from scratch.  It was fun, and I was promised all sorts of things and they even created a new position because of me. One that they then didn’t allow me to have.  So I left, and went to San Diego. 

There I went to work for a projector company, and I loved my boss and liked my job.  Lots of variety, and more autonomy; it was great. Surely here I could advance; then the company was sold and the facility was closed. But it was okay, because I had my dream job – an editorial assistant with a small online scientific journal. Even the offices were wonderful, and I was in heaven.  There was so much to learn and to do and experience – for four wonderful weeks it was just amazing.  Then they closed the office and I was again looking for work.

I landed on my feet, eventually ending up at a biotech in the Regulatory department.  I loved it.  I loved the people (many are still close friends today), I loved the work and I loved that what I was doing had a positive impact on the world.  After that company merged, I then moved on, back to Seattle to work at a biotech there.  Life was good there, and I had a boss who believed in me and wanted to help me advance.  I finished my degree in Communications and things were finally looking up.  Until my boss was forced out and I ended up working for a man who saw admins as something slightly more advanced than the old school secretary who took dictation and fetched coffee.

I applied for jobs, blanketed the country with my resume and hit up those I thought could help me, all to no avail.  I wanted to be anything but an admin.  The company I was working for had a large round of layoffs, of which I was one of the hapless.  I didn’t mind, it felt like freedom.  I loved the people I worked with, loved the community of big brained people who allowed me to sit at the lunch table and be part of the group.  But I was going nowhere fast, and it felt like a monumental relief to leave.  I ran away to Europe for a while and now I am again looking for a new job.

Just the other day I applied for a communications coordinator job, one that looked promising and low and behold – they called me.  Would I be interested in an executive assistant position?  This one is different – no really.  Except that the very different position sounded very much like a traditional admin job.  Tomorrow I go interview with them.

It feels as though someone has taken a great big ‘ADMIN’ stamp and placed is squarely on my forehead.  I worry that when I look in the mirror it will be tattooed there, indelible and inescapable.  I worry that when I die my headstone will read “Here Lies an Admin” complete with a little filing cabinet.  I don’t disparage or discount the work an admin does, but I do know that I am not the right person to be one.  It is not my music.  Yet every time I step through a door , I am faced with it again.

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.  I would like nothing more than to be a writer, to write whatever I can – articles, newsletters, blog posts, stories.  Maybe it is telling me that I can’t do both – I can’t be a part time writer and a full time something else; which is how I have been approaching this.  Still, I wonder if I can ever scrub off that stamp and be seen as who I am rather than what I did for so many years.

Good Advice

The other day I read a really great quote - basically it said it is better to live your own life imperfectly than to try and live someone else's view of your life to perfection.  How often do we do that, I wonder?  How often is the life we are living really the construct of what others want for us? 

Don't get me wrong, I am sure that we are told what life we should be living with the very best of intentions.  Those that love us want us to be safe.  They want us to be happy, too - but in the absence of a good definition of what happiness is they (and we) default to safe.  We are told that all that is wanted for us is a 'good life,' a chance at what marketing moguls tell us is the American Dream.  But in reality, is that what all of us want?  I don't.  I have no interest in owning a house; especially the McMansions I see around me.  I don't have need of a fancy car, just one that works - or better yet, access to a mass transit system that is reliable. 

My dream is of travel, of good food and good wine and good friends.  My dream is a little place to come home to at the end of a good trip.  My dream is writing on a balcony overlooking the Adriatic, or the Mediterranean, or whatever big body of water happens to be happy.  My dream is wandering back streets of a foreign city itching to get lost and then found again.  My dream is completely alien to most of my family and even most of my friends.

Yet when I look at it, living the life they envision for me; even if I live it absolutely dead letter perfectly; I just feel exhausted.  Yes, the life I yearn for is not an easy one.  Yes, the life I yearn for means a lot of hard work, a lot of disappointment, and a lot of frustration.  But the safe life I had was no picnic either.  Coming home at the end of the day feeling wrung out and sad.  Working at a job that should have had so much more meaning, should have had so much more promise but instead relegated me to a nice little corner.  Where I lived for vacation, lived for evenings out with friends who understood that travel bug; where I trod lightly over the minefield of expectations of those who told me I was crazy, strange, weird, and troublesome. 

I would rather live my destiny - my very own destiny - imperfectly, flawed, and tumultuous than to ever again live a life that is prescribed for me by others who draw the boundaries of it based on their own fears.  Easier said than done, certainly; but good advice none the less.

Baby Steps

I have had some bad days, days when I wonder if any of this is worth it.  They are the days when I want to pack up and go. Anywhere.  Anywhere that isn't here.  Days when I hate everyone around me and I am positive that no matter what I have done in the past year, I am going to end up exactly where I was before.  In a dead end job that I am not happy in.  Those are rough times. They are the nights when I cry into my pillow. They are the days that lack the ambition to do little more than sit at my computer and kill time.  They are the times that I think that I am kidding myself.

Then there are times when something unexpected happens, when the sun breaks through the clouds and the world is lovely.  Those are the times when I can actually see a different future, one where I am doing what I love and being happy in my life.  Okay, maybe I jump the gun a bit.  But still...they are moments that give me hope, and I am all about the hope.

Last night was one of those moments.  A friend, a cheerleader really, prompted me to do something that I was too shy to do.  She told me to get my stuff out there.  Use my Social Media know how and start promoting myself.  You see I write another blog - Vine Woman.  It is my blog of all that is good and wonderful about living in the Northwest.  It is all about my passion for food, wine, beer, travel, the good things in life.  This one is all about me, and my journey towards becoming Vine Woman.  This one is more private and introspective.  That one I actively promote.  This cheerleader (you know who you are) prompted me to start publicizing new posts.

So I did, about two weeks ago.  It was hard to do, but I did the conversions and tweeted about my latest and held my breath.  Nothing much happened, really.  Then yesterday, one of the wineries I follow on Twitter (and who seems to follow me), retweeted my blog.  I have 62 followers.  They have 1,000.  1,000 people saw that tweet and a goodly number of them decided to follow the link.  It is a small step.  A mere baby step.  But it is the kind of step that makes me think that maybe there is something to all of this after all. It was a good day.  It was a phenomenal day, really.  One to hold onto for those days that are miserable.    

The Kids are Alright

A friend sent me a lovely email today, one in which she asked me how I was doing in light of everything that has been going on in the last year.  She asked if I was okay, was I depressed, was I frustrated, was I worried?  As is often the case when someone you care about asks such questions, there was a temptation to dash off the one line "I'm fine, thanks for asking!" reply.  The one that has the obligatory use of the exclamation mark, just to prove how fine you really are.  The one that brushes off the real answer, the deeper answer, and is meant as nothing more than a surface reassurance.  The kind of answer that we are skeptical of when we get it ourselves.

I felt that I owed her more than that; and it seemed a good opportunity to take my own emotional temperature.  Am I really 'fine?'  So I set down to write an honest reply; in doing so I kind of surprised myself.  I am, actually, fine.  Better than fine, really.  I found myself writing that I am truly grateful for this past year or so.

1. I was freed from a job that I wasn't particularly happy in.  I truly enjoyed the people I worked with.  It was a joy to spend so much of my time with funny, smart, interesting people; most of whom loved what they did and were really, really good at it.  I liked the company I worked for, I liked the idea that my work contributed to a company that tried to heal people with serious diseases.  But I never felt that I was working at my potential, and I never felt that I had the opportunity to advance or that I my skills and knowledge were be used in the best and highest use.  And yet I never seriously attempted to rectify that.

2. I was given the opportunity to take an extended trip, to spend time in some amazing and wonderful places.  I met some sweet and interesting people, was allowed to be a temporary local in France, in Ireland, in Scotland.  It was a rest I dearly needed but never realized how much. 

3. I have had the opportunity to deepen and develop a couple of interests that were peripheral hobbies.  Interests that have roots going back almost a decade.  I feel like I went from an apprentice to a pretty skilled journeyman when it comes to wine and food; and I feel as though I have become a better, stronger writer in the process.

4.  As a result of those interests, I have met some pretty wonderful people.  I have met folks who have a passion for what they do, who have a drive that gets them out of bed in the morning to work longer, harder hours in the pursuit of their interests than they ever did working in a traditional 9-5 job, and who couldn't be happier as a result.They truly are craftsmen, and beyond that they are just darned nice people.

5. I have discovered who my cheerleaders are, and have come to appreciate them more than ever.  I have met new people who I doubt I would have come in contact with in any other circumstance.  People who have given me new perspectives, new ideas, and a renewed energy to pursue them.

6. I have learned that it is okay to ask people for help.  That it is not some sort of personal failing.  That alone has been worth the price of admission.

 At the end of the day, I am not just doing okay, I am doing pretty darn good.  I am a better, smarter, stronger person for this journey.  Not that it has been a bed of roses - it has been challenging, depressing, irritating, frustrating, at times I have felt hopeless and even worthless.  And yet, I have survived, even thrived in this little petri dish.  So yeah - I'm doing just fine.  Thanks for asking.

Motivation

One thing that dogs me constantly is motivation.  As in the lack thereof.  Inertia is my enemy, I realize, one that sneaks up on me wearing the best of intentions.  No really, you deserve a day off from this relentless job hunt.  Won't hurt a thing, I promise.  Just a day to relax and not have to search a gazillion job boards.  It sounds reasonable, it sounds nice, it sounds like good advice when all is said and done.  Sometimes you do need a day off.

Lately it has become too easy to take a day off too often.  Like for several days straight.  Too easy to justify not looking today.  It's a holiday week, no one will be posting anyway.  No, really, I need time to think about this thing or that thing, how to craft my resume or cover letter; to think about if this is really a good fit.  So I step away from the computer, step away from the job hunt.  Step away from the work that will feed my intentions. And the more steps I take away from it all, the harder it is to get back to it.


I tell myself that I just need a little motivation. Something to spur me on, to invigorate and inspire me.  Something that will renew my energy and propel me back to where I need to be.  I keep looking for it, expecting to find it hidden away somewhere, like a child playing hide and go seek.  Thinking that it will pop out from unexpected nook and yell "surprise!"  But it hasn't.

I read once that motivation follows action.  It is about as true a statement as I have ever encountered.  Motivation does not spring forth unbidden from some magic lamp.  Motivation does not arise like the sun, requiring us only to stretch, yawn and step out of bed to greet it.  Motivation is a catalyst - something that, when added to action, spurs it on and accelerates the process.  If there is nothing there for it to act on, it is inert.

Today I am taking the first steps, restarting the engine and trusting that motivation has built up in the environment, just waiting for that spark to get it moving.  Truthfully, it is a battle, but one that I will win.  Because motivation follows action.  And acting is what I intend to do today. 

Intention

Merriam Webster defines intention thusly:

Function: noun

Date: 14th century

1 : a determination to act in a certain way : resolve
2 : import, significance

There has been a lot of talk, books written, comedians commenting on, etc around intention.  It has become one of those 'woo woo' words (as my brother in law likes to say) that people invoke along with things like "the will of the universe" and other such things.  But I think it has been done a disservice.

Look at that definition again.  A determination to act in a certain way; resolve.  In this last year, I can honestly say that my intentions have been all over the place.  My determination to act in a certain way has swung, pendulum like, across a broad spectrum of career choices.  It is fair to say that instead of  acting on what I wanted, I was acting only on what I didn't want. As in, I have no idea what I want my next job to look like, but I do know what I DON'T want it to look like.  I built a long list of things that I wasn't willing to do anymore.  I didn't build much of a list of what I did want to do.

Oh, I could give you fuzzy ideas about what I wanted.  I want to write.  I want to travel. I want a chance to grow and learn.  I want new challenges.  All of those things are great, on the face of them. What they don't do is give any intention of what that next position would actually look like.  Write what? Travel where? Grow how? Those questions are left hanging.  So when that dreaded interview question came up - 'where do you see yourself in five years?' - I was left hanging as well.

In my desire to not do something, I completely neglected what it was I did want.  I think part of it is fear.  Look at the last part of that definition: Import, significance. Yes, I want my next move to be important, to be a significant move.  But if I do that and I fail?  What if that choice is the wrong one?  What will others think of my choice?  Those are scary things to hang words like importance, significance, determination, and resolve on!

So here are my intentions: To write the stories that live in my head, to write about the things I love and enjoy and want to share with the world such as my northwest life blog.  To write about the travel I love and crave.  The places I have been and the places I have yet to visit.  To get paid for doing so!  That is my intention.  There.  I've said it, or rather written it, for the world to hear or read or whatever.

Keeping the Faith

I've probably talked about this before, but it is hard - really hard - to keep a sunny outlook.  There are days when I feel worthless, days when I feel useless, days when I can spend hours beating myself up over the fact that I don't have a job.  I can look over my job log; the spreadsheet where I faithfully record every position I have applied for, every place and every person I have sent a resume to; and deride myself for the things that I am going for. 

There is the little voice in my head that likes to mock me "Seriously? You think they are going to consider you??" it says as I read a job title.  "Like that's going to happen!" it laughs as I finish off a cover letter and get ready to send it.  It is the same voice that pines for my 'old life' and whines that it wants it back. 

Last week I was back in Seattle, and on a whim I stopped at my favorite market.  I pulled into the parking lot and I found myself getting really sad.  In fact, I nearly cried.  It was so familiar, so achingly familiar, this remnant of my life a year ago that it caught me off guard.  I began to mourn for this wonderful life I once had, and the familiar refrain of "I just want my life back!" began to play on the endless feedback loop in my head. 

Ah yes, that wonderful old life I had.   The job that was unfulfilling, the apartment that had a great view but was on an incredibly noisy street with incredibly noisy neighbors and was structurally damaged; the friends I saw infrequently and the frenemies that came around a little too much.  There were aspects of that life that I loved, but many more that I didn't.

In the end, I think, it is an illusion. A ploy to get you back to 'safe' because right now you don't feel any sense of safety.  It is a dream of a better time that never existed.  I have to believe - have to believe - that something better is just over the horizon for me.  That something will break and will break soon, that will be that better life I have been looking for for the past two years.  It just happens that out of those 24 months, 12 have them have conspired to make me just a bit more uncomfortable.  I do know it is out there, that I am approaching it a bit more every day.  There are times I just wish it would hurry up and get here!