Don't Defend The Shoe: Just Make It Work

In the past four years, pretty much since Day 1 of this odyssey I call My So Called Grown Up Life (which was kicked off, in no small part because after over 2 decades of higher and not-so-high education, I was finally taking on a 9-to-whenever job), I have often had conversations that always go something like this:

Conversation Buddy ("CB"): What do you want to do with your life? Is this really what you want to do? You are good at what you do, but you don't seem very happy. If this isn't what you want to do, you should figure out what is. Life is too short not to be happy.

Me: Stammerings of semi-coherent statements that all I want to do is do a good job and be happy, interspersed with confessionals that "things have been hard" and "I feel like nothing I ever do is good enough" and "I just don't want to be a burden or let anyone down." And then the inevitable: *Tears welling up in eyes*; *One tear trickling down cheek*, *The levee then broken, the ensuing downpour begins.*

The tear ducts thus in full effect, the conversation is over.

Typically, at this point, I would then get a hug from the Conversation Buddy - as they are usually a supportive friend or sympathetic family member - and reassurances that I will find myself someday and that it will all be fine.

I had another version of that conversation today, but instead of a supportive friend or family member, insert a partner (or rather 2 - one in person and the other on speakerphone) and after the tears, subtract the hug but insert a kindly, if somewhat uncomfortable, smile, and thus, what you have before you is an exact re-enactment of my yearly performance review.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that I would be in the position of having to explain my inner-turmoil to my bosses, but what else is there to do when they come to you with one question: "Do you really want to be here? You don't seem happy. What do you want to do?" Okay, that is three statements, but they were pretty much asked/stated/posed in succession over and over again, as I hedged and spluttered in search of the appropriate response.

I don't think I ever came up with one. I just started to cry.

This was probably the kindest work review/intervention to ever take place, in that every question was followed with a very nice compliment of my work. The issue is primarily my attitude, or lack of one. Seniority brings privileges, perks, and pay-raises, but it also brings increased scrutiny and new levels of assessment, so now, in a sort of bizarro America's Next Top Litigator, the panel of judging partners want to know if I really want to reach for the brass ring of partnership. And now, at long last, the herd of folks around me having considerably thinned over the years and the stress having mounted and accumulated, it is apparent to everyone that as the ring bobs and weaves above myself and all of my colleagues, I am no longer jumping for it. No reach. No grasp. Nothing.

The truth I have always told myself is that I was never jumping for it. I never wanted the brass ring, that I never actively participated in the farcical race towards parthnership that I once read described as, "An ice cream eating contest, where the prize for winning is more ice cream." The truth as it really stands is probably somewhat more obscure than that. I live to please, ever the junkie for the approval of others, and the only thing in this world that has ever garnered me any attention has been my academic, and by extension, my workplace success. All the while that I railed against the "oppression" and "outrageousness" of my job, deep down, I believe I thought, or even hoped, that if I stuck it out long enough, I would rise to the occasion and learn to embrace it, if not love it. I could be the partner at 31, a wunderkind of the legal world. Even if love continued to elude me, people would still certainly be impressed with me. And somehow, I must believe that this would be enough.

But I know better than that. People are "impressed" by me now - high-powered job, high-powered education, all on a high-powered, fast-forward pace - but how happy has that made me? Time has sped up on me with each passing year. This is apparently common; most people ascribing the increasing temporal warp speed as a function of getting older. But I think there is something else to it: If you are unhappy, it is nearly impossible to lay claim to your present. The minutes and hours of every day slip through your fingers like some opalescent viscous fluid, and, rather than trying to cup your hands and hold as much of the fluid so as to revel in its magnificence before it inevitably slips away, you simply open your fingers wider - at best indifferent to the powerful trickle between your fingers, at worst, actively willing the trickle to become a waterfall.

This is how I lost 2005. I spent the entire year, willing each day to go by, simply to get to the next. I forgot to take hold of some of that time, to bathe myself in the euphoric and simple joy that certain minutes of inevitably life hold. As it stands now, my job is not to blame for this state of affairs. It has, however, become an indellible symptom of a greater issue. I must claim my life.

Life is more than impressing people, more than seeking approval of others, more than "doing the right thing." Life is about about people, about love, about smiling eyes, about deep-seated mourning. Life is about experiences.

I have the option to continue on the track that I am, but it will require much more of an active investment by me. I must choose it.

No matter what I do, I must now choose my life.

"What do you want to do?"

I still don't know. But a choice must be made.

Channeling My Inner Fortune Cookie

And my outer mother, of course...

Her favorite expression in life is "Everything in excess is bad." Or rather, more accurately, "Todo en exceso es malo." Either way, she uses the expression too much. The irony of which is completely lost on her, or maybe it isn't, and she is just conserving her energy for continual invocation of her second favorite platitide, "Be careful - you might get what you wish for." For some reason this one is only ever uttered in english. Not sure why. Given that I am nearly positive she picked this up from a fortune cookie, I think she may be angling to save the bilingual approach on this one for the day she figures out how to say it in chinese. I won't even get into "Cuando la vida te da limones as limonada" and "Por el roto siempre hay un descido." It is a little too much to take on in one day. What I had really wanted to focus on was the second asian cuisine-ish phrase: Be careful. You might get what you wish for.

Lola, over at Bitter With Baggage, has kindly invited her readership to delurk, and the friendly bunch that they are, they have responded in kind. If you haven't been over there yet, I highly recommend dropping in for a visit. You will enjoy yourself. Supremely. Promise. Lacking in originality as I am these days, I contemplated following her move and inviting those in the blogosphere that happen to skitter by here from time to time to sit awhile and chat and tell me a little about themselves. Admittedly, I am curious. However, I realized I am also scared. A little scared that there is no one to delurkify and reveal themselves to me. Completely terrified that there are many (read: more than none) out there waiting to stand up and be counted. I know people come by here - some dear friends to begin with, some whom I have developed friendships with through the magic that is this blog (heh), and, of course, the random fun spammers that want me to subscribe to their magazine or buy their penis enhancing vitamins - but it still feels like an intimate stage upon which I am merely a player. If I were aware that there were more people that are reading my rambling rantings of insanity, would I lose my voice, my point of view? Would I get blog-stage fright?

After a little thought and a deep breath, the answer is "unlikely." The one thing I do, and I do well, is entertain. Well, at least when I am trying. I am a spinner of plates, a battler against silences. A raconteuse extraordinaire. Well, at least in my own mind. More importantly, I apparently have a very high threshold for embarrassing myself. This is not to say that I am not easily embarassed - which I am, both early and often - but I think it has become such a fact of life that I simply incorporate the fact that I will continually be blushing - both literally and metaphorically - into the reality of my everyday life. I am sure that no matter how many people ever read my polemics against Darth-Damon or my "woe-is-me" soliloquys about, well, everything or my inordinate love for all men of the military, I would probably keep on writing them, just because I can. It's who I am.

Funny, I started this blog with the intention of never having anyone read it. Who does that? Apparently I do. I had a great internal debate over whether to set this blog to the "public" function. It seemed like such a grand move at the time. Funny how things change.

I realize I sound very - stop.start.stilted.yes.no.maybe.Iguess.sure.ifyousayso. tonight - I think I have a frog in my throat (my head?), it has made my writing voice hoarse and scratchy, my expressions disjointed, my exclamations infrequent.

So, the only fix? One thing at a time.

It occurs to me that maybe I present very differently here than I do in real life, thus begging the question: How do I (think I) present in real life?

In real life, I am quiet... in situations where I am uncomfortable. However, if I know you well or if I don't know you at all, I am expressive (put nicely) verging on chatter box (more accurate). I love a good story - both told to me and told by me. More dramatic, than mellow - but the two words in concert are quite appropos. As I alluded to before, I am the plate spinner (though I am also often the walrus, though never the egg man. Never the egg man.) I often answer the question, "How are you?" with a sigh. I always immediately regret it. I love when people laugh. I love that my life gives me plenty of material to make that happen. I am comfortable being on my own; the only times in my life I have ever felt lonely is in big groups. I am very emotional - I cry pretty easily - less so than before, but still more than is wise and more than I care to admit. I am a substantial person - I take up a fair amount of space in a room - I am tall with a penchant for four inch heels. Try as I might when I am feeling bad, I think the world is forced to notice me. Alternately channeling fashionista and lawschool grunge, my choice in wardrobe is my sartorial mood ring. My face is my corporeal one. I will never be a poker player - not only because the inherent mathematics involved with card games causes me to involuntarily tune out - but because every emotion I have, every thought I have got, flickers across my visage. Look closely enough, you can read me like a book. I often fidget, but only during uncomfortable silences or when I am stressed. I walk fast to get where I am going, but mostly out of habit (my father - a pragmatic man, always in a hurry made a big impression on me when I was young "Kids, parking at the far edge of the parking lot means we will always get out of here first.") I alternately remember silly details and forget important dates. I used to always be, to the point of fanaticism, on time. Since I started working, I am always late. In the end, I think I fill out a group pretty well. I may not be the first person on an invitation list, but usually, I am probably not the last person tacked on out of a sense of obligation either.

Then again, I also think I am funny, and along with "I am a good mentor" and "I am a sensitive person" (in the sense of being sensitive to the needs of others), that is a statement that, when said about oneself, can never be true.

31 Flavors

Hearing Auld Lang Syne always moves me. Maybe I am ever perplexed by what "auld", "lang" and "syne" actually mean. Maybe I have just watched When Harry Met Sally twenty-five times too many. Either way, I hear those plaintive tones that open the official tune of New Year's and my heart begins to mist over with sentiments of every kind:

31 flavors of regret. 31 flavors of appreciation. 31 flavors of resolution. 31 flavors of hope for the coming year. A lot of emotion and ambiguity from one who was born and nurtured in a family that epitomizes, year after year, 31 flavors of crazy.

The past year was the most difficult of my life - at once a blessing and a curse - blessed because there was no personal tragedy which tore my world apart, cursed because even without tragedy I managed to lay waste to 365 precious days by succumbing to my personal malaise. And so 2006 arrives not a moment too soon. A paragraph finalized, a page turned.

Editorials and experts alike have warned of the danger of too much introspection this time of year; likewise, those in the know are quick to point of that too much (read: unattainable) resolve is to be avoided as well. So where does that leave me? Holding on to Today.

Today, just today, I will not be afraid - of my own shadow, of the possibilities, of change, of what is and what isn't.

Today, just today, I will take a deep breath when I feel the rising sense of panic.

Today, just today, I will begin working on the belief that the simplest things in life - that warm, bright corner of the world that I dream about - can be mine.

Today, just today, I will start to forget that I have always felt fundamentally unlovable.

Today, just today, I will start to remember the image that I had long buried - of love, of family, of building something - and believe it could possibly happen someday to me.

Today, just today, I will look in the mirror without wincing.

Today, just today, I will let go - of the ones who bring more pain than presence to my life; of the memories whose continually re-lived slights keep my wounds and resentment fresh and poison relationships in the present day; of everything I know for an absolute certainty, because nothing is ever absolute nor certain.

Today, just today, I will be very quiet and I will listen - to those around me; to myself.

Today, just today, I will trust - them, me; it will be okay.

Today, just today, I will sit down, I will take a long look around the corners and past the walls; I will see.

I may not be able to do all of these things, I may not be able to do any of them. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, maybe not next month - but maybe Today. At least just Today.