Journey On

Oh, my goodness.  It hasn’t been quite twenty-four hours since my last posting, yet it seems that at least seventy-two hours must have gone by!  At 3:14pm yesterday afternoon, the waiting I referred to ended.  I received a call – the call – that I got the job!!  Oh, my goodness!!  He actually said, “We want you to come work for us.”  Now I have an inkling of how Sally Fields may have felt when she gave her famous, “You like me!  You really, really like me!” acceptance speech so many years ago.

It’s been eleven months of waiting to hear those words.  I listened, I heard, I thanked, I hung up, and I started dialing and e-mailing to tell my incredible support group of friends and family the good news.  If I had a steeple bell to ring, it would have been clanging up a joyful symphony to call out the good news.

The serendipity of closing my final online session with the the unemployment system five minutes before that phone call is not lost on me; the timing was, in a word, fantastic!  The reality is still new enough to have me in the “pinch me” phase.  The future is looking brighter and more hopeful.

It is time for me to journey on.  While this job is part-time and not enough by itself to sustain me, I am no longer jobless.  I will accumulate the balance of what I need to survive through doing myriad odd jobs as yet to be determined past those that are immediately at hand.  I will acquire my Reiki Master certifications and fulfill my destiny to be a healer [again].  Yes, it is time for me to journey on and to face new challenges and possibilities.

I am so grateful.  I am so grateful.  Journey on …

Waiting

I’ve noticed that being unemployed, and subsequently looking for work, involves a lot of waiting.  I wait for new ads to be posted on the multiple job sites I frequent.  I wait to hear back from organizations to which I have submitted applications.  I wait for my interview, when I’m fortunate enough to get one.  Then I wait to hear if there will be a second interview or if I’ve gotten the job … or not.

Today, I’m waiting with all my might.  How usual, right?  But today’s waiting seems harder than in the past.  I’m waiting to hear if I got a job I interviewed for on Friday.  I was told a decision would be made today, but was not given a time frame as to when I would be contacted.  I wait for my phone to ring, and I wait for an e-mail with news to appear.  As I wait, I find myself on the cusp of tears; they are smarting my eyes even as I type this post.  Why?  What is different about this particular waiting game?

It is likely the answer comes with the unceasing tick of seconds falling like grains of sand into the lower chamber of an hour glass.  It is likely the answer comes with the close-at-hand need to change my Mary Engelbreit calendar from April (“If you can’t be a good example, you’ll just have to be a terrible warning.”) to May (“Life can only be understood backwards, but must be lived forwards.”).  It is likely the answer comes with the lack of new jobs to which I can apply today; nothing in the offing to stave off the endless waiting.  It is likely, too, the answer comes with the fact that today I submitted my final claim for unemployment benefits; the end of the line in that regard and a big, b-i-g, BIG one at that.

So I wait, attempting to do so without worry and fear, rolling my neck on my shoulders to loosen the tension that is bordering on a headache … Then my phone rings a familiar song, meaning it’s someone I know; a dear friend calling to check on me and see if I’ve heard about the job. 

“We’re rooting for you,” he assures me, and I know that’s true.  His simple, thoughtful kindness is all it takes to make the waiting tears flow.  It is comforting to know that my friends can hold hope for me when I just can’t anymore, and to know hope will return to me as it always does … I just have to wait.

Good Begets Good (or The Law of Attraction)

Ever since I was a little girl I recall hearing various adults within my sphere use the phrase, “When it rains, it pours.”  Invariably the saying was used when a series of negative events or experiences had come about.  It wasn’t until I was an adult – more specifically over the past three years or so – that I realized there could be a positive turn to that phrase.

Anyone who hasn’t heard of “The Secret” has clearly been visiting another planet for the past several years.  The book that started a spiritual revolution, of sorts, was followed by a movie.  Both began rather humbly until they caught the attention of the likes of Oprah.  Their murmur became a cheer as minds were opened, spirits lifted, and hope was restored to millions who “got” the concept and made use of it.  Like anything, the use of the law of attraction takes practice and persistence.  And, like anything, it’s all too easy to let the practice and persistence wane until we experience a resurgence and allow its flame to burn brightly again.

That’s what has been happening to me.  I “get” the concept and I understand how to practice it, but that doesn’t prevent me from dropping the proverbial ball and letting it roll under the darkness of the couch, all but forgotten in my apathy and fear.  But, as is the case with everything in life, light is cast into the darkness and re-illuminates that which we know to be true.  And as such, the tide begins to turn once again.

Case in point:  the past few days in my life.  A couple possibilities were presented to me, fanning the flame of my hope.  As my spirits were raised and my inner vision was cleared, a couple more possibilities made themselves known, quickly followed by confirmations of the first two possibilities becoming realities.  That powerful, positive forward motion continues to cascade sweetly as more possibilities present themselves, raising the bar of my hope ever higher, and filling me with gratitude and excitement.

I am gratefully and happily riding a wave, poised solidly atop its crest and reveling in the gorgeous view.  I’m breathing in air scented with promise and filled with purpose; feeding my body and mind with effervescent positivity in a near-prayerful way. 

This feels so good and so right.  I feel endlessly energized as I consider the possibilities which can, with remarkable ease, become probabilities.

• I can earn good money creating garments and costumes.
• I can become a Reiki master.
• I can plumb the depths of my inner despair and wash it down the drain, allowing me to become even more happy and fulfilled.
• I can, really and truly, do and be anything I want.  Nothing is beyond my reach unless I allow it to be.

Good begets good.  Hope begets hope.  Happiness begets happiness.  I have a new saying now:  “When it rains hope, it pours happiness.”

I Get By (With a Little Help From My Friends)

It was a good day!  I am being contracted to construct some clothing and costumes, and I landed a job interview!  Yes!!  On top of that, I had an unexpected and appreciated mid-afternoon conversation with a good friend, and was fortunate to have it be women’s meeting night at my house.  Truly, the day couldn’t have gotten any better unless I’d actually been offered a job.  As I sat in my living room this evening discussing the realities of my current existence with three extremely astute and honest women, I couldn’t help but realize how lucky I am to have them and the rest of my circle of friends in my life – both the light and the dark of it, as well as the gray area.

Other than right now, there have only been two other times in my life when I felt the clutching hands of my “dark place” pulling at me; urging me into its yawning chasm.  That first time, unaware and unprepared and incapable of phrasing questions, I entered that dark place alone and stayed there until a glimmer of light and hope showed me the (arduous, painful) way out.  The second time was quite short-lived thanks to  my friends and their remarkably generous and giving natures.  While I hadn’t shared much with them, they paid attention, saw, heard, and acted.

Now, standing once again at the edge of the darkness and feeling its magnetic pull, I am able to tell my friends where I am, what it looks like, and how it feels.  It’s not pretty and, in fact, it’s pretty scary.  But I stand at the edge and I look at that darkness long and hard, because it has to be dealt with.  There is fear and pain in the darkness; there is my naked truth.  It’s all there waiting to be washed off and viewed appropriately, and then let go; a daunting prospect.

The difference between that first time and now is my ability to share and to articulate.  I’ve come far enough since then that I can expose some of the darkness and articulate its presence and the resultant tremors beneath my feet.  The difference between then and now is that all my friends are standing there with me, just behind me, encouraging me to do the work that has to be done and assuring me that they are there to greet me when I return, or even to pull me out if need be.

So as I stand there – here; as I stand here, waiting, testing the darkness, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I can do this.  I know that I can confront that darkness and my demons (fear of my state of joblessness, for one) and, in doing so, force them to relinquish their control over me and force me to relinquish my attempt to control – well – everything.  With that done, I can step back into the light and bask in the warm rays of hope awaiting me. 

I can do this … with a little help from my friends.  And I greatly wish that everyone could have the level of support system I am fortunate enough to be a part of.

When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Bread

I have nothing against lemonade; I even enjoy it now and again.  So at some point in August when it seemed as though the stack of lemons had gotten seriously out of hand, I finally tried something I’d been planning on doing for years: I tried my hand at making bread.

Having a desire to be health-concious about it, I decided to plunge into the deep end and start with whole wheat flour.  I assembled the minimal ingredients, followed the simple recipe I’d found online, and went for it.  Two hours later, I pulled a reasonably attractive, admittedly delicious smelling,  loaf of bread out of my oven.  I had to use two hands to do so, because that loaf of bread had to have weighed five pounds.

“Is it supposed to be this heavy?” I wondered to my empty kitchen.  It slipped easily out of the bread pan and onto the bread board with a surprising thud.  I used both hands to flip it upright, noting the thud again as I set it down.  I could probably have caused blunt head trauma with it had there been a vict- er, um, intruder at hand to test my theory on.

After a reasonable cooling time, I sliced with little resistance through the loaf and breathed in the unmatchable scent of fresh-baked bread.  It smelled amazing and my mouth was watering in anticipation.  I took a bite of that bare, naked bread.  And another.  And another.  I made it through the piece, but barely; as heavy as the loaf was, each bite represented that heaviness.  By the time I had eaten that slice of bread, I could imagine how it would feel to eat an entire loaf of store-bought wheat bread.  Holy Hannah!  Out of sheer stubborness, coupled with a heaping helping of pride, I managed to eat my way through that first loaf of bread over the course of a week, vowing with each bite that I would not try my hand at whole wheat bread ever, EVER again.

The following week, I gave bread-making another try.  This time I used unbleached white flour with the same recipe.  When the time came to pull the loaf out of the oven, I actually gasped.  The loaf was gorgeous!  It had risen to picturesque heights above the top of the bread pan, taking on a glorious golden brown color, and I was able to remove it from the oven with just one hand. 

“Aaaaahh!”  I could hear angels singing praises from above for that bread.  It was all I could do to wait for it to cool a bit before slicing into it and beholding the divine texture, then moaning with pleasure at the truly life-altering flavor.  This was real, homemade bread; the kind you go home for at Thanksgiving.  Hallelujah!

As the seasons turned from summer to fall, I honed my bread-making skill to a point where I no longer used the recipe and was quite comfortable trying variations on the simple, main theme.  Garlic bread, cinnamon-sugar bread, cinnamon-honey bread, parmesan bread, chocolate bread, Thanksgiving bread, pizza bread, peanut butter and jelly bread, tuna melt bread … They all made their way into and out of my oven on a regular basis, and could be sampled at any variety of friends’ and family’s homes over the course of the extended holiday season. 

What I hadn’t anticipated when I began my journey down bread-making lane was the immense sense of accomplishment, satisfaction, and even serenity that would come with it.  When you are making bread by hand, you must be patient, you must be attentive, and you must be hands-in as well as hands-on.  I found the practice of making bread to ease my over-thinking mind, and the follow through of eating the bread (typically while sharing it with others) to provide me with a truly needed pat on the back (from myself and those others), which then lifted my flagging spirits.  They were side effects that were most unexpected, and most appreciated.

Bread:  my version of the proverbial lemonade.  Butter up!

On The First Day

My unemployment began officially on Monday, June 2, after completing my last work day on Friday, May 30.  The weekend had been just that – the weekend.  Filled with the “normal” weekend stuff: a Ya-Ya gathering on Friday evening, lunch with a longtime friend on Saturday afternoon, a “surprise” lay-off dinner on Saturday night, a leisurely Sunday.  Then came Monday, the first day I didn’t have a job to go to.

That morning, I was out of bed by 7:00am, as usual, cleaned, dressed, coiffed, and made-up, and out of my house by 8:30am.  I had made prior arrangements to meet two friends for coffee; a power coffee, really, to discuss what in the world I was going to do if I didn’t get the job I’d interviewed for on Friday (serendipitous, right?).  After a most enjoyable and productive hour, I was on my merry way to complete the long list of to-dos I’d compiled.  By the time I finally got home, it was nearly 5:00 and shortly before the time I would have been arriving home from work. 

As I took a breath and looked around at my sunlit space, I realized what I’d done:  I had completely filled my day so that I would not be faced with the reality of being unemployed.  I had kept myself so busy (albeit doing things that being tied to a desk wouldn’t have allowed me to do) that the entire work day had zipped by with planned activities.  I had maintained a level of productivity that prevented me from thinking about this scary new place I found myself in; a place in which I didn’t have any job and therefore any income.  Very scary, indeed.

I managed to do much the same over the remainder of that week.  The one thing that was markedly different was not setting my alarm clock to make sure I woke up “on time”.  Even so, I would wake up at the usual time, get up and at least get dressed and coiffed, if not made up (depending on what I was doing), and fill my day with a stream of tasks to keep me and my overactive mind occupied. 

Over the next several weeks, I quickly became accustomed to spending anywhere from 6 to 8 hours each day job searching and sending resumes and cover letters.  Sometimes I would look at the clock to find an entire day gone by without leaving my computer as I scoured job sites and tweaked my resumes and rewrote my cover letters.

Even now, when I think back, that first day was tinged with as much hope and promise as it was with carefully squelched worry and fear.  I remember the immensely satisfying taste of the coffee combined with the presence of two friends determined to get and keep me on track; the bright warmth of the June sun slanting in my car windows and the soft air teasing my hair; the vague feeling of elation at the freedom to run here and there doing necessary “things” to get through the day; the sense of adventure at the prospect of a new job and meeting new people.

There are some days, now and again, that I can recapture that.  And I’m grateful.

I Have Hope

Here I am, ten and one-half months into unemployment.  I just finished submitting my second-to-the-last unemployment claim for allowable benefits and am acutely aware that I’m left with one more submission before the end of that assistance.  This morning I had my home phone and cable service shut off by choice; need to cut my expenses somewhere.  That leaves me with Internet for job searching and blogging, etc., plus my cell phone for everything else.  Then there’s rent, electricity, heat, propane …  If I think about all of it too much, my head starts to hurt.

Even with an admittedly rather dismal reality looming, I always come back to hope.  I have hope that one of the jobs I continue to apply for will hire me.  I have hope that I will be able, at the very least, to use multiple streams of income to make ends meet.  I have hope that this recession will dissipate more rapidly than predicted, and that the millions of people out of work will have jobs to go to sooner rather than later.

I have hope, and I hold it fiercely in my heart in order that it will make its way to my head and prevent me from breaking.  I have hope.  I do, I do, I do!