Senior Year in College

Figure make up for lost time and continue with these stories. Let’s see. Senior Year was a very busy one at school.  I directed four shows and choreographed a dance piece. I also wrote a 108-page thesis and discovered the Writing Center on campus, promptly wishing I’d taken advantage of it the rest of my four years there. Oh and I completed a minor in my spare time. So yeah, fully embracing my workaholic-ness at the time. I wisely gave up on living on-campus and was totally at SecondFamily’s house that year, to my BestFriendFromCollege’s chagrin. The man I was in lust with got engaged, which I found extremely inconvenient (although he didn’t actually marry her until several years later, so I guess it was nice — in a way– to have time to get used to the idea).

In some ways I think I entered adolescence late, and I remember being more “difficult” in this period of my life than I ever was in high school. One incident that stands out, was being in a show, which received mixed reviews on campus– and was required to write a paper for the professor/director about what a good play it was. The style of the director had been very oriented towards creating an ensemble of people that would feel passionately about the work and making autobiographical contributions to a larger social theme in the play, and on a level I did both– but I got hung up on certain aspects of the whole project I found unprofessional, and on a sense that my life was being exploited in a way. I felt a strong sensation that this professor was trying to understand me, and that the conclusions she was drawing were incorrect– but instead of revealing myself more fully it closed me off further to her. What I wrote in the paper was honest, but taken to be hurtful, and I do regret it. It served no great good to burn that bridge. Unfortunately the professor was also my thesis advisor and that whole incident created a distance that did no good for that project either. My grades weren’t really affected by any of this, but the whole year had an energy of discomfort that really was unnecessary. In a way, it was my first experience with politics, and the first strongly negative reaction I’d received to stating my opinion–and it took quite a long time to sort out where I had gone wrong and what had happened to what could have been a meaningful professor-student relationship.

BestFriendFromCollege and I had a graduation party together in a rented tent on campus, and I was so happy my SecondFamily and my Aunt, Uncle, Cousin, and Cousin’s Wife were able to come out. There was definitely a sense of relief, being done, and a sense of good adventures to come.

I spent much of the summer in Europe, first on a “business trip” with my family in Germany that then turned into visits to Brussels and Paris as well. Then I went on my own trip studying directing in Italy and marveled at the scenery every chance I got. It was all rather heavenly.

Back in the states I felt great trepidation, having worn out my welcome to some extent at SecondFamily’s house and needing to earn money to get an apartment of my own.

These memories for so long seemed to be not-that-long-ago and lately I’ve been realizing how distant college seems. I’ve been missing it, or parts of it, as I’ve wondered about my suddenly seeming uncertain future and even toyed with the idea of getting a sixth year degree or PhD down the road. There certainly is something insular, and attractive about the little world of a college campus, pursuing one’s own research and stretching the mind. My master’s experience was very different because I was even more detached from the college itself, commuting in for a class or two each semester. It’s now been two years since I’ve had to write anything for a class, and after SO MUCH school for so long it’s kind of striking to realize that. It’s also been about seven years (I think) since I’ve been in a play (other than a couple brief performances at church a couple years back), and about nine years since I’ve been in an acting class myself. Is that what I want? I guess a lot of my work these days feels like I’m GIVING a lot, and I don’t have much that is giving to me. Something to think about.

I know, been busy…

Part of the reason I haven’t posted much lately is I haven’t felt very coherent or articulate. I definitely have a sense that I’m on the precipice of a new stage in my life, except I’m not altogether sure what that stage is or will hold. Certainly I have been questioning my long-term commitment to my Job, and that has been part of it. And I’ve been trying to climb my way out of depression once again, with varying results. I have this constant question in my mind of “Well what DO I want?” and my answers have not been too clear, which worries me. I’m used to being pretty sure about these things. Or at least I like to think so.

I have been good the past couple weeks and actually taken real weekends (Sunday-Monday) Well, there may have been some e-mail involved but it’s a start. It’s hard not to panic on a day off about all the things that I have to face when I return to work. But I’m trying to be strong about it, let things fall where they may, and tell myself I will be more productive if I’m rested at least. Through no great initiative of my own I also got out of teaching Sunday School (attendance was low and they combined classes and don’t need me much anymore), which is also probably a good thing in the realm of taking things off my list. I haven’t been to church in a couple months, which I regret, and I do want to get back into that soon. I need restoration. And maybe a place of worship isn’t a bad place to sort out a life’s purpose…

Merry Christmas

It’s been awhile, mostly because I forgot my password and was too lazy to do much about it– but I wanted to organize myself at least to say Merry Christmas to everyone. My Christmas was quietly lovely and hopeful despite a stubborn cold and a bit of uncertainty. BestNieceEver loves her wagon and I am so glad I got it for her. I spent the day at my parents’, waiting around (by sleeping, mostly) for Sister and Brother-in-Law, with baby in tow, to show up (they said 11AM– try 6PM…) but once they finally arrived it was a lovely time. Later in the evening I went over to Cousin’s house. Cousin broke up with his fiance a couple months ago and is having a Blue Christmas, so I did my best to cheer him up and then slept over on the futon he inherited from me back when they first moved in together.

The Christmas show is wrapping up this weekend so its my annual time of nostalgia and emotional wreck-ed-ness. There was a guy I thought could have been a source of flirtation but I didn’t work hard enough at it, and he moves back across the country after tomorrow so oh well.

My faith that my Work is going to get better has been tenuous at best. I am burned out.

There are stories I’m a bit too tired to tell, but  the short version is that I’ve driven through some melancholy this past couple months, the Doc is changing my medication and we’ll see where that takes me. I am anxious to rediscover a happy person inside me again. Through it all I have been grateful for Christmas, with it’s random joyousness rubbing off on me here and there. I needed it and have embraced it as much as I have been able to.

Humor me.

Define “passive aggressive.”

What does it mean to you? Are you passive aggressive? Do you know people who are? What does passive aggressiveness look like?

Checking In

I keep meaning to post and getting swallowed up with living. Some highlights: I finally broke down last Tuesday and handed Transitional Boss a letter saying if I didn’t get the assistant I was promised 5 months ago I would stop coming to work– it about killed me to do it, but it appears that squeaky wheels do occasionally get oiled and I can hire an assistant next week. Also in letter writing news, I wrote the Dept of Consumer Protection about the fact that I’ve waited since April for a functioning washer-dryer– I  don’t think it will help but it felt good to do it. What else… I got into a fight with someone I thought was a good friend who I’ve been blindsided to find out has a rather patronizing view of me. I upset Sister by asking the wrong question at the wrong time. I played with BestNieceEver on Thanksgiving. My Christmas friends are in town again this year and they have encouraged me to drink more glasses of wine over the past two weeks than I’ve had all year.

It’s been a rough week or two. I haven’t been getting enough sleep and I’ve often been so wrapped up in my unhappiness over one thing or another that I’ve gone back to just saying “I’m hanging in…” when people ask how I am– cuz “fine” seems like too much of a lie. I’ve been surrounded by people who really care about me, which has been nice, but I guess I’m in a wilderness place again, and I’m just hoping to find a clearing there by Christmas.

Musings on this disease again

One of the things that I’m starting to realize about my workaholism is it’s sort of a bipolar experience that fueled by incredible denial. What I mean is, in the course of a day I can have many ups and downs. In the course of what I would call a Workaholic Episode Day those downs can be intense beyond words. It’s a feeling that my body is running on empty but going faster. There is a sensation of THIS-IS-INSANE, of MELTDOWN-IMMINENT, and of PANIC!-IT’S-ALL-GOING-TO-FALL-APART! And while that goes on inside my outside is gritty, tunnel-visioned– I can’t connect with people because my mind is afraid of losing some bit of information it desperately has to remember, #16 on the to do list, and  #31–50. There is a tremendous fear that I will forget to do some essential thing and people will be annoyed, chaos will ensue, I will look disorganized, something. Do you know how people often remember their dreams when they wake up but then if they move at all or go about their daily business the pieces of the dream seem to get farther and farther away from certain memory? I think that’s what I fear will happen with the many responsibilities I have taken on and/or been given (for those are two different things, I admit).

I am always believing that disaster will be at hand if I fuck up.

But then, somehow, I get to the end of the insanity. I save the day or I screw up things along the way but am too tired to beat myself up about them long. I curse my lifestyle and waddle in depression a bit, and then collapse in exhaustion or (I guess worse–) simply transfer over to a project of a different sort that distracts me from whatever collection of issues or messes were plaguing me 10 minutes ago. And this is what is scary. I swing back from that insanity as though (or at least I convince myself it is as though) I were rested. Optimistic. Confident. As though there-had-been-some-challenges but all is better now. All that lies ahead is supremely manageable. As though nothing had come before.

Sometimes the roller coaster goes back and forth between both sensations multiple times in one day. It occurs to me in both cases I maintain I have control to the outside world, even when I don’t or can’t or no-one-reasonable-would. When I am in the doldrums of the low I feel pathetic and desperate; people tell me I’ve taken on too much and I nod but feel helpless against this thing that seems to be happening to me. When I am back on the sunny side of life it is almost as though I am redeemed, healthy even. I am powerful, conquering.

Someone once told me that the reason people say that they stick around in domestic violence situations is that often the perpetrator of the violence creates “so much happiness” in their lives outside of the violent episodes. But the problem is that that sensation victims feel isn’t happiness, it’s relief. And I suppose there is a confusion for me too, in that in this situation I so often see that first moment I’ve wrestled free of a particularly long day or messy crisis as a moment of great joy. But it isn’t really that I’m free, the situation has just ended, despite or because of whatever level of competence I brough to it– and it will always come back. I guess I always find hope as each chapter is closed along my way– and perhaps it is only in times of rest and seeming “sobriety” that real change could ever happen for me. But I think I need to treat this disease in all its phases and cycles, and at the least recognize its presence in both the “good” and “bad” times that make up my life’s experience.

Addiction is a strange thing, and I have to say the more I’ve explored my own the more I’ve understood and sympathized with those who struggle with vices less culturally acceptable. My addiction got me a Master’s degree and a fancy title, but in the end this really is just as deadly and spirit-draining as addictions to gambling or heroin. I can do better by my life.

This post should have been about my so-exciting cruise

And I will have to remember to fill you in on all those details because really. It.Was.Wonderful. — but instead it’s 20 of 4 on the morning I have to return to work and I just found out something this past evening that is going to make tomorrow, er, today– even more depressing than I was kind of already anticipating it would be. Phooey.

Suffice it to say I think I’ve finally come around to truly question the viability of the NonProfit I work for. Economic viability, programmatic viability, everything. Things have always been rocky here, and I often say the great miracle is the fact that we’re still here. I have tried so hard to fix so much, and certainly it’s fair to say that my identity has gotten quite mixed up in my place here. And for the first time I think I will be truly in a place where I can will myself to consider whether I should stay. It makes me ill to even think of leaving. But until tonight people would say “How can you stay there? Don’t you know there are places where you could be paid more? Appreciated more?” Maybe I haven’t known. Maybe I still don’t. But tonight’s the first night that I haven’t been able to brush those questions off easily with a “well maybe someday I’ll come to my senses…” or a “it’s working as a job for me for the moment” or a “there’s a lot of benefits in this job that I couldn’t get somewhere else.” Tonight’s the first night that I’ve hesitated at all, even let myself grapple with the question for real.

Damn it. And I was so rested.

Is this a light I see at the end of this tunnel?

What a week. I go on a cruise next week and by golly I’ve earned it. As my last post indicated, there was a major crisis at work this week involving some kids. It’s been one of those miracle weeks where emotions are high, and I have often felt that I am navigating through a maze, but not on my own power– I am doing things and watching myself doing them at the same time. There is a sense of right-ness, a sense of I’m doing what I’m called to be doing. A sense that I’m a passenger in my life but I know the way. And yet– it’s peculiar because it’s exactly how I shouldn’t feel. In a crisis like this I think I should be backpedaling and unsure– isn’t that how everyone is? But for all the moments of wringing my hands before summoning up my courage– I’ve felt sure this week about what is right and a… comfort with taking on the courage to do what needed doing. I wouldn’t want to go through this again, and I would do anything to take away some of the suffering here. But there are so many times in life when things are foggy and there’s something… clarifying… in coming to a crossroads where the choices come down to moral courage.

For all that I am afraid of, and there is much– one thing I am proud of, one thing I like about myself, is that I think I am a courageous person. More than once now I have faced hard choices and gone along a path that could have been easier– and I’ve always found I sleep better at night after. Even seemingly trivial choices like whether to give a toast at my sister’s wedding– I knew I needed to say what needed saying, and I was chicken for so long I couldn’t write it or guarantee it would happen for the longest time. But when I read the speech it was almost an auto-pilot thing– I think it’s that I feel free-est when my heart is open and sharing.

So. Miracles happen amidst madness. It is nice to be at the end of a lot of difficult decisions and have survived in one piece. It’s nice to actually now be thinking of my vacation. For a long time this week I didn’t think I could enjoy my vacation– I kept thinking of the many work items tabled in the name of crisis and stressing that it would be the center of my thoughts next week– and THEN all the worse to return. But something in me is shifting this past day or so. It’s not just the “I need a vacation” cliche’ of every week– it’s somehow I think I’m ready for it.

How to Re-Member - OR - I’ll put money down my day sucked worse than yours

One of the causes worth supporting that I’ve linked on this site is a place called Re-Member. It’s an organization that serves the Lakota Indians on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. I volunteered there a couple years back, building bunk beds for families living a dozen to a trailer. I am glad to have done it and would love to go back, it is a wonderful spiritual place that is making a difference in a community that sorely in need of healing. They host volunteer education and “mission” trips (though not of an evangelical variety in any sense of the word) providing service to Remember and Re-Member the Lakota people. That is, first, to Remember what has been done to the Lakota in the past and what continues to afflict them now. But, perhaps even more urgently, Re-Member seeks to Re-Member, that is to do the opposite of dismember– to take something that has been broken and put it back together somehow.

That image has resonated with me ever since that trip. I’ve been thinking about it a lot today, which was, to put it mildly, a very sad day from beginning to end. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain. Suffice it to say that children are often extremely cruel to one another and I would like nothing more than to take away some of the pain they so carelessly inflict sometimes. In my position at work I take responsibility for the well-being of hundreds of children a year, and it is a heavy responsibility I take extremely seriously. I care desperately for the kids I work with. Sometimes that isn’t enough. They fuck up. They hurt each other. They disappoint me. And today I spent literally the whole day– from 8:30AM to well-after 10:30PM, sorting through a mess of crazy proportions that included all of this, all in the name of protecting a victim. I made kids cry. I made parents cry. I blamed myself. I’m angry and sad and exhausted and disgusted. But mostly it’s just sad. And I look at all that has been broken in my organization, and these kids lives, and in my trust in certain people and I wonder How could any of this possibly be Re-Membered?

Loving People Sure is Emotionally Draining

My pastor is moving to another church. I find it extremely hard to talk about with friends my age, particularly friends who don’t know my church and what it is like there. Partly because its my faith is very personal to me I guess and partly because everyone my age seems to be agnostic, or passionately pagan, or devoutly  atheist– and the fact is that Christianity has a bad rep among my generation. I don’t dispute that this rep has been largely earned– it’s just that it’s become kind of accepted to bash people of faith as though they were all ignorant, or mean-spirited, or at least misguided. And that hurts sometimes.

I am the first to say that the public face of Christianity in this country disenfranchises virtually all other world views and spiritual practices on a regular basis, and that it’s not fair. And that one of the greatest travesties done on behalf of the church, throughout the ages, is abuse. Sometimes I try to grasp just how many have been hurt on behalf of religion, and by my religion, specifically. I can say that my God is a different God than that of the man who stood on the pulpit over my friends’ corpse just under nine (!) years ago, who felt it necessary to let us all know at that moment of his future in hell and ours as well. I can say that the whites who sought to Christianize the Lakota Indians by stealing children from their families and beating them in boarding school prisons when they didn’t speak English were not truly acting in His name. But semantics aren’t very helpful in these cases, and to some extent that is what it is. I met a young man a few years ago who blew his settlement money on crack cocaine after suffering for years because of his priest’s sexual misconduct. I doubt my protest that technically I’m Protestant would mean little in the face of his well-earned right to despise the Christian faithful. Christians need to own up and take responsibility. People are broken. It’s in our nature and it’s part of our life. And sometimes the institutions we are a part of contribute to that brokenness. I can’t fix the way so many people I care about have been hurt in this way, and I respect those who have examined the evidence and come out critical of this belief system that orders so much of my life and provides what little clarity and comfort I feel I have at times. So I laugh at certain comedians and remain silent when my friends comment that they think Jesus is a fake made-up story. But there is a bitterness towards my faith sometimes that makes me feel like I need to hide it, almost be ashamed of it, and it hurts.

I’m grieving my minister. He has not died, he is just moving on to his next adventure and I am proud of him for embracing the opportunity for new challenges. He has played so many roles in my life, in just the short time I’ve known him and been a part of this church. He’s sweet and funny and wise– kind of a self-deprecating teddy bear sometimes and kind of a world-weary activist in others. He gets excited about things and it’s contagious. He wears his heart on his sleeve and worries about being liked, and yet he had the courage to write a sermon about a friend who died in Vietnam during the months when America appeared to be counting down to the start of the Iraq War as though it were a Superbowl. He let me direct Laramie Project in the sanctuary and then shielded me from the outrage of those who did not approve. He comforted me with his quiet anger when I confided that someone in the church, charged with helping me through a difficult time had dropped the ball. He prayed with me. I miss him already.