Hello 2019

You know that one stock photo image of the beautiful, fit, young woman sitting on a couch cradling a steaming mug in her hands as she smiles contentedly into the middle distance? She's wearing impossibly flattering athleisure wear and a chunky sweater, and her hair is in that perfect "I don't care" messy bun that still looks great. The couch is overstuffed, but roomy, and her long legs are folded up under her in a way that looks comfortable, but never actually is when you try it in real life. The lighting is usually warm and soft, and the house is spotlessly neat and decorated with understated sophistication. The whole thing exudes coziness and contentment.

I recently finished listening to Brené Brown's I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't) audiobook. At one point she talks about a particular advertising image that she has internalized and set up as a standard for herself and her life which she now struggles to let go of. It doesn't matter what it was exactly; the point is that as she was describing it I thought "that's kind of weird. I've definitely never done that."

Cut to this morning. I was sitting on my couch at 10am, holding my mug of steaming tea, and having a moment of intense gratitude as I luxuriated in the bright morning sunlight filling my living room. And suddenly I had the thought "this is it, Emily. This is that moment that you're always seeing in pictures and wondering why you never experience it in real life. You don't have the perfectly clean and decorated house, you don't look fresh-faced and effortlessly put together, and you don't have that beautiful lithe body, but this is exactly what you're always pining for. Those details don't negate what you're experiencing right now"

But no, Brené. I've definitely never internalized an advertising image and set it up as an unattainable ideal for my life...

I decided I wanted to post a status about what a great moment I was experiencing, but my brother called me and I had to block out the scarf I just knitted, and then my dog reminded me that I promised her we'd go on a walk an hour ago, so I didn't get to the facebook status.

I did, however, take Tess on her walk. We walked down around the cemetery, which is normal, and then crossed 9th and State streets to visit the little park behind the school, which is not. We crossed paths with a few humans and a couple dogs. We spent some time playing on the school's playground equipment (Tess adores playground equipment). We walked past the house I used to live in and looked at the other beautiful old homes on the same street. Crossing back over State street to finish circling the cemetery there was a woman stopped at the light who was watching us cross in front of her and smiling. It was sunny and breezy and there was snow on the lawns, but the sidewalks were almost all dry. It was a perfect walk in every way. When we were nearly home, I suddenly became aware of how much easier a walk like this was compared to when I first got Tess two years ago. I’ve long since given up on the idea that walking Tess was ever going to really improve my fitness, so this was an immensely gratifying realization.

As I walked I thought about my morning, what I really wanted to say about it, and what a beautiful day it was. I didn't even make the Brené Brown connection till I was halfway through. When I finally got home a little while ago and started writing, however, I realized I had more to say than would fit in a facebook update...though as it turns out, a lot of it is just context and narration.

I think that what most caught my attention was realizing that, at least for today, I’m ok with the places where I fell short of the ideal. I love my big, strong, soft body that is stubborn and slow to change, just like me...because it is me. I love my messy, eclectic home with dog hair in the corners. I am satisfied with my priorities, which don’t often include doing my hair and putting on makeup.

I guess what I really wanted to say is that today is a good day, and I am happy.

Day 2: Where did you grow up? Share some memories...

Well, it's 1:40 and I have to get ready for work in just under an hour, so today's post will be an exercise in speedy writing. I am not good at speedy writing. Here we go.

I grew up in two places, really. I was born in New Mexico and we lived there till just before my 8th birthday.

Several years ago I drove a roommate down to New Mexico for a wedding and on the way back we were able to stop at my old house. The woman who lived there was so kind, she let me wander around the property and even let me come in the house to use the bathroom. I don't know if I've ever had a more surreal experience than that trip. Finding the house (I had to call my grandpa for directions) I kept driving past unexpectedly familiar things that would jump out of the background of an otherwise completely strange place. Things like an old bridge with odd wire shapes on the side, or the street up to the church building. Or the ice cream place my grandma took me that I thought for years after was Orange Julius, but is in fact called the Vanilla Moose (we stopped and got the very same drink and it tasted exactly as delicious as I remembered it, which was freaking magical). Then getting to the actual house where everything was both incredibly familiar and also so different. My grandparents' house had fallen into complete disrepair and was basically a rundown shack. Our old place now with a closed in porch all around.

But what are some specific memories I have of that house? I remember standing on the porch down at the end by the driveway. I think the porch was still level at this time; it hadn't yet been been left all akilter after my uncle had to excavate a skunk out from under it (I remember so many skunks having to be removed out from under our house, which was a single-wide trailer with an addition built on). I'm standing there on the porch and someone....I think maybe one of the Hinke children, which would have made it Heber since he and my uncle Jesse were best friends...has just given me a piece of candy.  I put the candy in my mouth and almost instantly begin to cry. It was a Warhead and it felt like it was burning through my tongue (this was not a lesson I learned as I later on developed a great love of Warheads and did in fact burn a hole in my tongue from eating an entire bag in just a few days). I cried, but I didn't spit it out. I remember getting to that last tiny burst of sour in the center.

I remember my mom making us popcorn in her black and white and orange air popper. We would sit around the stove up in the living room and listen to records. Bible stories that were in black and gold sleeves, or the soundtrack from Popeye (whenever that came out). Mom would scratch our backs and I don't think anything in my life since has ever been that cozy.

I think the top on my mom's was much more yellow. But otherwise it was just like this

oh my gosh. I actually found one. I freaking love the internet.

I think we must have been incredibly frustrating children, my brother and I. We would play these games at night. Mom would tell us we were not to get out of bed, so we would take our blankets and sheets and our silkies (my mom's old nightgowns which we were absolutely obsessed with and each had our own collection of) and we would stretch them out end to end. And at the very end we would be stretched out, literally one toe still touching the chain, laying on the floor declaring that we were still technically in bed. We could make it almost to the kitchen that way. I am not sure how mom didn't strangle us on those nights.

I remember so clearly the day my brother came in after crashing on his bike. His knees were bright red, though thinking back they must have just been thoroughly skinned. There was no blood running down his legs. But that was the moment I became terrible afraid of bikes. Instead of learning to ride my own (I got a beautiful white and pink and purple one for Christmas one year) I would run along pushing it. Or I would just run along with Dan as he rode his. That was back when I liked to run...

I didn't actually learn to ride a bike until we moved up to Oregon. This is where I finished growing up (did you see that segue? maximum smooth!). I eventually forced myself to learn to ride my bike on the dirt road behind the house. I think I must have been 10? I don't know. But I would push myself along and coast as long as I could keep my balance. It took a while before I got up the courage to actually pedal.

In the Union house I got my own bedroom for the first time. Up till then Dan and I had shared a room. In high school I decorated by putting up pictures of wild animals salvaged from calendars. I lined them up in a border around the ceiling. It was very hard for me to throw those away when I moved out for college. I have the heart of a hoarder.

pretty sure I had the 1999 version of this exact calendar

Mom has always loved rearranging the furniture, but when I was 9 or 10 she put together a configuration that left a tiny alcove between the couch and the wall. This became my little hiding place for what felt like quite a long time. I would hide in there and write. I wrote an incredibly stereotypical story about a girl who found a magical horse by a river and tamed it. I don't remember why, but eventually mom banned me from hiding in that little place.

I started public school in Oregon. Up till then I had been home school. There were kids my own age. More than that, there were girls my own age. I experienced my first sleep overs, my first birthday parties, my first experiences with the politics of childhood friendship. I was not good at it. When asked which boy I liked the most I did not know that the correct response was to giggle and drop hints. I just said I liked Remington the most because he was quiet and shy and seemed nice.

It's almost time for me to get ready for work, so I have to wrap this up. Of course there are so many more memories. These just happened to be the first to pop into my head. And very unedited because I didn't have the time. Ah well...

Day 1: Give us a quick snapshot of your life right at this moment

A quick snapshot of my life. Well, above is a picture of my face and shoulders, so this is what the top quarter of me looks like. It includes a new pair of glasses.

Basic facts.
I'm about 5'10". There may be some fractions more or less (I think less?) but 5'10" is close enough. My eyes are blueish, with a tendency toward grey. I have boring light brown hair that recently was a glorious blue (and will be again one day). I weigh....shoot, I have no idea. But it's a lot. Probably over 300? idk. I am built with a tendency toward top-heaviness which I inherited from my father's family.

Job facts.
I work for a company called Boostability. They perform SEO work for small businesses. I did not know what SEO stood for when I applied for this job. I had to google it. It stands for Search Engine Optimization. Then I had to google what that meant. It means doing stuff that encourages Google to rank your website on the first page of search results on particular keyword searches that are relevant to you. For instance, my blog would be relevant to a search for, say, "existential rambling blog". I now know how I could convince Google that I am probably the most relevant blog for that term and show up as the #1 result for that search. Though I don't think I'm going to do that. Anyway, I work for Boostability. Specifically, I am the "Onboarding Specialist" for the Sensis team, which means I set up the new accounts and I work with Australians. I work ridiculous hours, which happen to align with Melbourne business hours (Sun-Thurs 3-12). I get called "sweetheart' a lot by the older men I speak to. I find it charming. I also sometimes get hit on by some of the older men I speak to. I find that hilarious. I have a really great team I get to work with. And I have three awesome bosses. I used to have two awesome bosses and one mediocre boss, but then he got "downsized" and replaced with a fully awesome boss. #lifeisharshinthewild

Religious facts.
Ugh. Let's not and say we did. So much work.

Personal facts.
I turned 30 in September. I struggle with the existential angst of someone who grew up being told she has all the potential and who has ultimately done almost nothing with it. I have a cat name Oliver Tesla Tucci who I named after Oliver Platt, Nicola Tesla, and Stanley Tucci (all men that I feel like are completely underrated in their fields). If you don't follow me on facebook or instagram (and if that is case, how did you even find this blog? did you search "existential rambling blog"?) then you haven't seen a picture of him. LET ME FIX THAT RIGHT NOW! (if you do follow me you had to be expecting this)

this is the picture I just used to make my custom case for my new phone. 

this is the picture I almost used for my new phone case. I only meant to upload this one, but google gave me both. Clearly Google appreciates how adorable my cat is and who am I to say google nay. 

As an almost complete shut-in, Oliver basically constitutes my significant other. Yesterday he rode on my shoulders as I danced to this song

which I am currently obsessed with. He enjoys dancing with me, probably because I don't make him do it too often.

I live in a basement apartment with Oliver, a hedgehog named Phoebe, a hamster name Sophie, and the thudding noises of children upstairs as roommates. Currently, all of my plants are dying from lack of sunlight and it is making me very depressed.

Because I work such ridiculous hours, I do not do much socially. To be fair, I didn't do much socially even when I didn't work ridiculous hours. But it's nice to have something to blame that on now. I went on two dates this year with a man I met on Tinder. I can't actually remember his name now, but he was a very tiny man who was very nice and very interested in hooking up with me. After two dates I asked my coworker to send him an "it's not gonna work out text". He handled it very gracefully. I haven't really used Tinder since. I am superlatively bad at dating.

Other things.

Mostly just because I want to write them down and I'm writing right now, here are some of my goals for the coming year.

• I want to be more productive. I don't want to just sit and browse facebook all day every day. I want to create things. Even if they're things that other people could have created better (historically one of my big blocks when trying to create). Some of the projects I would like to complete this year are
• build another book shelf to replace the ugly plastic shelves I'm currently using
• figure out some way to store and display all my beautiful scarves
• take up painting again
• make something to hang over my couch to hide the weird painted shut panel in the wall
• read at least 3 new books I've never read before (not just reread my favorites over again)
• write another story, even if it sucks
• make my bed every morning
• clean the house every Saturday
• Take charge of my life more. I want to actually plan out my days so I don't get to the end of them and realize that I basically didn't do anything at all. Toward this goal I would like to
• every Sunday sit down and write out everything I'd like to accomplish that week and then break that up into realistic daily to-do lists
• use the gym membership that Boostability subsidizes for me (eurgh)
• by the end of the year I would like to not be eating fast food save as a very rare treat. 
• as a first step to this, and part of my previous goal about consciously taking charge of my life, in February I'm going to try creating weekly menu plans.
• write to Danielle at least every other month. Also write to Tori (but first get her address because I lost it)

So there you have it. A basic overview of my life...ish...with an outline of how I'd like my year to progress. If you have a deep burning question about something I did not mention, feel free to comment and ask. The comment section is readable now, with this new blog theme. So that's nice. 

The Road Untaken and the Talk Not Given - musings on spousal selection

A couple weeks ago I was asked to speak in church.  I went through this process of writing out my whole talk, and then at 9 pm Saturday night I decided I wanted to talk about something else.  I mentioned this whilst I was speaking and a couple of my friends told me they wanted me to post my un-given talk on my blog.  So, here it is, more or less, adapted to secular blog instead of theological oration.

I want to talk to you guys about one of my favorite books.  I've written about it before on this blog, in my list of the five books everyone should read, but specifically every girl should read before she turns 20.  I'm rather proud of the fact that that is in my list of top 10 most popular posts, btw.  Anyway, I'm talking of Little Women.  I would like to assume that, as readers of my blog, you have of course, already read Little Women after I recommended it before, or you have already read it on your own because you have superlative taste.  But if neither of those things are true, I shall give a brief and incredibly inadequate summary for you.  Little Women, published in 1868 by Louisa May Alcott, tells the story of Jo March and her 3 sisters as they transition from young girls to women.  Jo, the penultimate child, is the classic tomboy bucking against the restrictions of gentility and societal expectations.  Early into the story she befriends Teddy Lawrence, the boy next door, and he is quickly adopted into the family as a brother.

Ah, wee baby Christian Bale...you did a pretty good job I guess

At this point I supposed I should warn of upcoming spoilers, but guys....the book has been out for 150+ years, not to mention made into at least one major film.  So I feel like you should probably get over it.

So anyway, Jo and Teddy grow up as best friends, sharing the same sense of humor, the same interests, and enjoying the same activities. And as they get older, Teddy starts trying to lay the ground work to take his relationship with Jo to the next level.

Here's the thing guys.  I just finished this book for the first time in many many years, only this time I listened to it as an audiobook.  I don't know if it was the woman reading the book or just my frame of mind this particular go through but for the first time I found I kind of had a thing for Teddy.  I never appreciated how funny and sassy he is before.  But I realized something else, too.  I've conducted 20-odd years of thorough study on this via film and TV and I can tell you definitively....Jo and Teddy are legit made for each other.  They are the text book definition of chemistry.  At least by modern romantic standards.  Think about it.  Isn't that what ever rom com tells you to look for?

Your perfect match.

I love puns so much

Love, and consequently marriage, is about finding that perfect match.  In practical terms that looks like someone who will validate you.  It's like "You watch the Great British Baking Show? OMG, I, too, watch the Great British Baking Show!!   At last I can stop feeling weird and just watch and love the Great British Baking Show with someone....which is all I really ever wanted."

In contemporary society, where long-term monogamous relationships are approved of at all, they are marketed as the ultimate bff validating relationship.  Your spouse is that person who will always be on your side, who likes what you like, and who reassures you of your place in the world because they occupy it with you......But guys.  Jo doesn't marry Teddy.

Teddy goes off to college and when he comes home he asks Jo to marry him.  He, like me this time through, believes in the idea of a perfect match.  But Jo says no.  She breaks his heart.  She breaks his heart because she understands that there is another way of loving and another way to choose a spouse.

Instead of a perfect match Jo wants a perfect complement.

eheheheheheh

She knows this because it is the marriage she has watched her whole life--that of her parents.  Early on Jo's mother talks to her about her hasty temper, explaining that it will cause her so much grief if she doesn't learn to control it.  Young Jo bemoans how impossible it is to remember and her mother makes a confession.  She, too, struggles to control her temper.  But her greatest strength in her efforts is her husband.  He knows her struggle and when she needs help he gives her a small sign to remind her of what she wants.  .

This was another aspect of the book I'd never really appreciated before.  Essentially it was a portrait of a much less common type of relationship, even back then, but it gave a whole different idea of what a marriage could be.  One person loving the other enough to patiently help them when it was needed, and the other person loving enough to humble themselves and accept that help.  In this sort of marriage the goal is not to comfortably validate you, but gently and lovingly push you towards progression and improvement.  In this marriage two people join together to share the work of becoming the best people they can possibly be.

I don't think it is a coincidence that the modern idea of love is the philosophy of matching and validation.  It is easier.  It asks so much less of us.  A complementary relationship takes work.  It requires humility and love and dedication.  But if you put in that effort you will have a partner who is as invested in helping you attain perfection as they are in achieving it themselves.  Can you imagine any greater or more valuable asset in our progression as individuals?

I do not love these actors as these characters, but what can you do?

Jo does eventually find her compliment in a really lovely gentleman named Professor Baehr.  He possesses the strengths she lacks and she provides for his deficiencies.  They form a partnership that is stronger together than  either of them were on their own.  And almost it is enough to help me overlook the creepiness of a 40+ year old man courting a 22 year old girl.  Almost.

Achievement Unlocked: Life Orientation Obtained!

So...here's a thing.  I have decided that I want to pursue a career in teaching.

I spent 10 minutes writing a big explanatory preamble to that statement because, it turns out, I find it strangely difficult to announce this decision.  I am embarrassed to admit it.  I am embarrassed because after all my existential whining I have settled on what might arguably be the world's most obvious choice.  I'm embarrassed because I don't know if this is an idea that is going to work out and I don't want to publicly fail.  And also I'm embarrassed because this decision comes kind of suddenly and out of nowhere, but I am really really invested in it.

The reason I'm really invested in this idea is because, for the first time, I feel like I have found the way that I can help to make the world a better place.  Every day I see new ways in which the world is utter shit, and traditionally my strategy is simply not to think about it.  Because if I think about it I get aggressively depressed.  I am depressed about how terrible everything is and I am depressed about how helpless I feel to improve it in any way.  But the other day I was chatting with Callie and she was telling me about how much she has enjoyed her unexpected year teaching high school math.  And for the first time pretty much ever in my life I actually considered teaching as a thing that I might do.  And I just kept thinking about it, all that day and the next.  And then one day I suddenly realized I had made the decision.  I wanted to be a teacher.  I had found my way to make the world better.

My entire adult life, and even a few times in high school, I have been asked if I wanted to be a teacher.  I have always answered decidedly no.  I said I didn't want to deal with apathetic students, crazy over-protective parents, and unsupportive administration.  You might be surprised that a college freshman even considers unsupportive administrations, but remember that I went to high school in Union and I was very good friends with several of my teachers.  I was pretty familiar with the idea before I ever graduated.

This, of course, begs the question: why have I suddenly decided that I DO want to deal with all those things?  And the answer is....I haven't, necessarily.  I'm still quite worried that I ultimately won't be able to deal with these things.  But I am comforted with my years of customer service experience.  Years of unsupportive upper management and aggressive and entitled customers have, I think, given me some slight preparation for a teacher's life.  The biggest struggle remains, as it ever has been, the apathy of students, which I think will be the hardest thing for me to deal with.

But I like the idea of trying.  I like the idea that maybe I'll be able to transform one apathetic kid into a crazy voracious reader.  For years I've dreamed of how great it will be when I can share all my favorite books with my kids.  Unfortunately, my own children remain a thing of the unknown future.  But as a teacher I have the opportunity to share those stories with other people's kids, which is almost as good.

And on top of all that, on a personal level, I like that teaching is a way to spend my time that I can feel good about.  I'm not simply passing the time doing an ultimately meaningless task just to earn some money.  The idea of spending my life like that has always bothered me.  Which is ironic, considering my enjoyment of pointless, repetitive tasks.  The qualification, of course, is that even the most repetitive of tasks eventually comes to an end.  But a lifetime of them is too much even for me.  Ultimately I am an intrinsically motivated person.  And without a spouse or children to invest my emotions in, the only other thing left is my work.  To do that I need a job I can care about.

But let's be honest, the appeal of teaching is not just altruistic.  It also has some very real benefits, such as...actual benefits.  At some point Obama is going to force the issue and make me get health insurance and a job that supplies it for me is looking pretty appealing at this point.  And while teachers are not known for their lucrative earning prospects, they do earn more than I do right now (and a heck of a lot more than I will be earning next week, when I will become officially unemployed).  I've never wanted tons of money; I just want enough, and for where I am in my life right now, a teacher's salary is enough for me.  Double plus good is the fact that if you can survive spending 5 years teaching in officially declared underprivileged schools the fed will forgive quite a lot of your student debt.  And then of course there's the schedule.  I would be lying if I said that summer vacation and Christmas break didn't sound pretty great.

If this post sounds like I'm trying to justify myself and my decision, well...I kind of am.  The day I realized that I'd sort of inadvertently made the decision I felt really great about it, but being an anxious person, I very quickly began to worry that I was actually mad.  Not to mention, the more I think about it the more I think of obstacles and difficulties.  One of the major problems is time.  The country may be suffering a dire shortage of teachers, and there may be a myriad of "alternative" routes to teaching certification, but I suspect that neither of those facts will translate into a great job by February, which is when I will abruptly run out of money.  The unbearable reality is that I will pretty certainly have to move out of my beautiful little apartment and back in to a place with roommates.  I have yet to come to terms with that reality and continue to pretend that I'll find some way around it.  Even if I do, I'm still not sure how exactly I'll make ends meat.  My plan is to sign up as a substitute teacher, but here in Provo they don't make a ton of money.  But these are worries for another post.  This post is all about the excitement of finally having a goal, even if I don't really have any idea how I'm going to achieve it.  Knowing where you're going is the first step to getting a handle on your life and for the first time in several years, I feel like I do.

So wish me luck!

1/3 Life Crises

This post is none of the nerdy and analytical posts I've been mulling over lately.  This one is a spur of the moment musing mainly to (as usual anymore) give vent to some of my life angstiety (do you see what I did there?).  Because tonight I finally forced myself to get back to that loathsome task of looking for a new job.  I got that interview last week and I sort of just stopped thinking about the job hunt.  But I was supposed to hear back from them on Friday and I still haven't, and even if I do and they decide to offer me the job I am deeply divided about taking it.  Which is all to say that I need to find some other options.

So tonight I decided to look for some other jobs to apply for.  Interestingly, I'm realizing I don't really want to continue in my current field.  To be sure, in the end I might not have any choice.  But I still have a little bit of time to look around, and so I found myself trying to find alternative employment to PCB Assembly (what you google if you want to find jobs like the one I currently have).

Of course, my immediate thought was "Ok!  Let's see what kind of jobs are available in the world of publishing!" because I have no grasp of reality.  After too much time wasted wandering around the internet, conducting penetrating searches like "publishing jobs" I had the brilliant idea to google instead "how do you get an entry level job in publishing?"  I came across this very interesting and useful article which, unfortunately, convinced me merely that if I wanted to get a job in the publishing industry I should have started the process in January.

Mulling over this failure of time management of course led me to consider my other planning-related failings, specifically, my absolute lack of life-planning.  Once again I looked at my trajectory in life thus-far and marvelled at the absolute lack of navigation.  It is astonishing that such a haphazard existence has not yet crashed into a metaphorical telephone pole and combusted vigorously.  It began as soon as I graduated high school with the selection of which college to attend.  And by "selection of college" I mean that I simply neglected to reply to any other schools which admitted me, and thus ended up at BYU without putting any real thought into it at all.  Once in my carefully selected school I proceeded to spend a very long time getting a very little education.  I did manage to score a degree...in a superlatively generic field of study.  And I did nothing else in my decade-long tenure as a student that might be useful to me now, like an internship or involvement in any campus programs. Despite my father periodically asking me about such things, somehow they still never registered on my radar of activities I should (or indeed could) actually do.

The thing is, even if it had ever crossed my mind to look for an internship or to get involved in some campus program, I wouldn't have had much idea which ones to pursue.  Because my ultimate problem is a lack of real ambition.  This is no new revelation.  I have known for some years now that I have no idea where I'm going in life because I have no idea what I want.  Or, those things that I do aspire to I immediately write off as unrealistic fantasies, and thereby avert the anxiety and hard work of actually pursuing them.

But tonight, reading about the process of wedging a toe into the publishing industry, I found myself experiencing a magical fusion of two previously entirely separate branches of my anxiety.  As I sat here thinking about my life and where I want it to go and how I need to find a goal...suddenly I had the mental equivalent of one of those creepy Vertigo zooms.  I leap-frogged right over picking a goal and started looking at the process of achieving that goal.  Specifically how long it will take.  And suddenly my 10 years of college became so much more of a waste than they've ever seemed before.  Most people my age have spent the last 5-7 years slogging through the initial stages of that process, but here I am literally starting from scratch and on the eve of my third decade.  Even if I start right now, by the time I get through the same things I could be nearly 40.

You could say that this job hunt, delayed and ignored and put off, is a microcosm of my life--when I finally decide to take it seriously I am on the verge of too late to find the right thing and may simply have to settle for the most expedient.  And I don't know which is worse: to continue drifting haphazardly through life or finally deciding on a direction only to realize that my chance to pursue it has come and gone.

TL;DR job-hunting and life-upheaval is stressful

I have been thinking with some guilt on my complete failure at blogging this year.  My general goal is to post at least once a month; this year I have fallen far short of that goal.  Partly I haven't had anything I want badly enough to write about and partly I just spend very little time on my computer anymore (phone and tablet have essentially taken over my internet needs).  But the urge to blog has at last returned to me, as it so often does, because I am having a lot of emotions and I need to vent them.  This is why my blog is so entertaining...

So what is going on?

What is going on is that it turns out I am kind of a major coward.  I do not like change, even when it is a change I have wanted for a very long time.  But, in the words of the immortal Lewis Carol, I shall endeavor to begin and the beginning and when I get to the end, stop.

The first issue that must needs be addressed is money, though I'll try to be quick.  Suffice it to say, I have none.  My finances have been dwindling since the beginning of this year.  I did that thing where I pretended like I was rich and carefree because I started the year not entirely broke.  It didn't take long for me to realize that was a horrible plan, and months later I'm still mentally slapping myself for it, but sadly the damage is done.  Things have been grim ever since, more or less.  My life now is a state of constant white knuckling from one paycheck to the next.

To be sure, I am aware of my good fortune.  I may not have any extra, but I have not yet come up short and I cannot begin to say how grateful I am for that fact.  But knowing that your life is the financial equivalent of that fork and toothpick trick and that the slightest bump will bring everything down around your ears is....wearing.

Perhaps this preceding stress will give me some excuse for my reaction, then, to the news Caleb gave me a few weeks back.

For over a year now Caleb has periodically come down to the basement to have a little chat with me about "the future of the company."  Every time he likes a different plan--release lots of new products one conversation, shift into high-end markets the next.  Then, about five weeks ago he comes to me again.  But this time his plan is to close CH Robotics down entirely.  This has always been listed in the possible options, but never seriously considered till now.  But it is all very vague.  He's going to look into selling, but maybe he'll just sort of go dormant, or maybe he'll officially close up shop.  He isn't sure.

Even though this sounded like another one of Caleb's ephemeral ideas--typically forgotten in a few days--it nonetheless sparked a pretty nasty anxiety attack.  That whole gratitude thing about always coming up flush no matter how close, it only works because I have this magical job that pays me really well.  Suddenly my rainbows and unicorns job has gone from anchor to...what is the opposite of an anchor?  The wind?  Sure, let's go with the wind.  Whimsical and dangerous to rely upon.

I prefer this sort of whimsy.  If you do as well, then might I suggest my whimsical pinterest board
where you shall find many more such whimsical images to make you feel happy

Things have remained in flux since then.  But slowly a picture has pulled together of what is probably going to happen.  Some time ago one of the components on our primary product was going out of stock with our supplier so Caleb bought out their entire stock.  The gyro/accelerometer IC.  This has become Caleb's countdown; as soon as I've used them all up he plans to shut down manufacturing.  At first he projected next spring, then February, and then this week he asked me if I could get them all built by the middle of November.  For those keeping track that means that the deadline of my own joblessness went from March to February to two weeks from now.  Though, I hasten to add that Caleb assured me that he will find things for me to do long enough for me to find a new job.  Bless his heart, he is doing his best to help me as best he can.  His deadline for closing the company entirely after we sell out our inventory is still the end of the year and from what he said I got the feeling he was assuming I'd stay till then as well.  Though I suspect he'll run out of things to keep me busy before then.

The thing is, objectively this really is not a bad situation.  I have been given plenty of warning of what is happening, and my boss is working really hard to help me out in every way he can.  It is a pretty decent bet that I could get another job doing what I've been doing at CH.  And then there's the fact that this is actually a great opportunity.  I have been dying to get out of Utah for years now and, since I finally graduated, the only thing holding me here theoretically has been this job.  Indeed, one could interpret the whole situation as a cosmic kick in the pants to get on with my life.

this is what came up when I googled "cosmic kick in the pants"
and I regret nothing

And yet...

Even though I know all of these things, the fact remains that I am, to use the vulgar expression, scared absolutely shitless about the whole thing.  I am terrified and anxious and perpetually on the verge of freaking out.  Like I said at the beginning, it turns out I'm a massive coward. But I feel like I need to explain why.  Like I need to justify my emotional response even to myself to prove that I'm not just a...a....a cotton-headed ninnymuggins.

First, know that above almost anything else I hate unsureness.  Which isn't a word, but you get the point.  To illustrate just how much I hate it, let me remind you all of the time I withdrew from BYU.  It was 2007 after my study abroad and I was broke.  I spent the summer trying to figure out how I was going to pay for school and taking my first steps down the road of churning anxiety with no outlet.  Ultimately I decided I was going to withdraw for a year and try to earn money.  At the time, if you didn't formally defer by a specific deadline then you were considered withdrawn and would have to reapply to come back.  I made this decision and I immediately felt better--I now had a solid point from which I could navigate further.  I then spent fall semester working, saving no money, and coming to the realization that I had made the wrong decision.  I should have gone back to school.  Nothing made this more clear than the moment BYU called me, a few weeks before winter semester was to begin, to tell me that their enrollment numbers were unexpectedly low so they were opening enrollment to students who had missed the deferral deadline instead of making them re-apply.  Now, I don't know the official numbers, but at the time that felt pretty dang specific to my situation.  Not quite a kick, but certainly a cosmic nudge in the ribs.  But I turned them down.  Because I had already made the decision. I so badly didn't want to have to revisit it, and consequently throw myself back into the marshlands of unsureness, that I consciously chose to continue making the decision that I very definitely knew was the wrong one (which, now I think about it, is possibly why the cosmos have upped their game to pants kicking).  So now apply that to my current situation and maybe you can catch a glimpse of my current unhappiness.  I don't know what is happening with the company and I don't know what is happening with my job and I don't know what is happening with my life and hate all of those thing.  So much.

I give up finding relevant pictures. I'll
 just give you more from my whimsy board

Second.  This one is kind of embarrassing.  As it turns out, I haven't actually had to search for a job in nearly a decade.  And before that I only ever really went through the process twice....eh....once and a half.  My last couple years of high school I worked but whatever...high school jobs aren't exactly critical.  After I graduated I moved to Portland to live with my dad for the summer before college with the vague idea that jobs would be more plentiful in the big city.  I proceeded to spend the entire summer searching fruitlessly until August when I was hired as the BB gun range instructor at a scout camp working 12 hour days for the astounding salary of $75/week.  That is the half.  The once was that same summer after my study abroad.  I was again living in Portland with my dad and I spent a month or two traipsing around Hillsboro handing out resumes (what was even on them??), falling down hills, and eventually getting a job at Target which I would hold for the next four years.  I spent a year in Hillsboro and then transferred down to Orem.  I cannot tell you how much easier it was to move back to Utah knowing that I had a job waiting for me there.  When I eventually left Target it was completely unplanned.  My brother had gotten a job at Vivint recently enough to suggest, in the glow of his employment honeymoon, that I too apply cause then we could work together and how great would that be?!  So I applied on a whim, was called in for a interview a couple days later, and walked out of that interview with a job offer.  Certainly not a change of necessity.  Then, three months later after I realized that the only thing worse than customer support in person is customer support over the phone, I was chatting with Caleb whilst he complained about putting many stickers on many sensors and I joked that he should hire me because putting stickers on things sounded like exactly my kind of work.  And a few weeks later he did just that.  In both cases jobs were basically handed to me.  I feel like I've forgotten how to find jobs, not that I was ever very good at it (BB gun range instructor for $75/week).  All I remember about the process is how ungodly awful it is.  And the couple of hours I spent peeking into the classified corners of the internet today only confirmed that impression.  How do you find jobs to apply for them???

actually...this is totes relevant

Third, and last...moving.  As I said, I've been dreaming of getting out of Utah for years now.  But dreaming of something is a lot different than being faced with the actual reality of it.  I've started thinking of exactly what a move would mean.  I complain about how few friends I have these days, but a few is definitely more than literally zero.  I learned this when I moved into my own apartment.  I told myself before I moved that my roommates were hardly ever home so it probably wouldn't be much different.  Once again, not many is distinctly more than none; rarely home is still more than never home because they don't exist.  If I moved to let's say Pittsburgh or somewhere in Michigan I would truly be alone.  I wouldn't even have acquaintances.  And the friends that I do have hear are dear ones.  I'd be leaving behind Caleb and Kara and Michelle and Taka.  And my brother.  There are all kinds of layers to my feelings about moving away from my brother and only some of them are social.  And as for the rest of my family, no longer would I be a comfortable day's drive away if I wanted to visit.  Add in the hassel of the actual process of moving, something I just went through a few months ago, and would have to translate into the greater trial of moving long distance... Suffice it to say, while I know that I don't want to live in Utah, I am becoming aware that leaving will not be an unequivocally happy decision.

this feels accurate....

So does that explain it?  Do I have a right to my perpetual anxiety and stress?  Do all these reasons add up to legitimacy?  I don't know.  Sometimes I think yes, other times I think I need to get over myself and realize that everything is fine and it will all work out.  Most of the time I am thinking both of those things at once.  But I do feel a little better having written it all out, which is usually the case.  I guess that's a point for Allen, my long lost therapist.  He'd be so proud to hear me say that sharing my stress, even with the vagueness of the internet, makes me feel better.  I do often think of him and wonder if this would all be easier if I could go and tell him all about it.  Who is to say.

But if anyone else has persevered and read through this whole thing, well, I thank you.

Several Peas in my Podcast

This week has been a headlong dive into the world of NPR podcasts.  Previously my engagement with the medium was limited to the occasional Wait Wait Don't Tell Me episode and Serial.  But since Monday they're almost all I have listened to all day at work.  I've listened to all of Invisibilia, and many hours of Radiolab, This American Life, 99% Invisible, and Theoretically Speaking (these last two are technically not NPR podcasts but definitely of the same genus).  I learned about the decline of the American automobile industry, filming on location in LA, infant organ donation (eyes in particular), the international American Visa lottery and consequent process of emigration from Kenya to the US, echolocation and the way it gives literal sight to the blind, the largest animals ever to walk, fly, and swim on earth (the blue whale, btw, is the overall winner of that game and amazingly still exists today), the Mau Mau uprising against British Empire, and the history and importance of the "Freudian couch" to the world of psychology.  These are a few of the things I have learned.  

this, by the way, is the answer to "what is the largest animal to ever fly?"
it is an azhdarchid pterosaur and they were comparable in size to giraffes
and I'm sorry that you won't be able to sleep tonight.

Traditionally I have helped myself pass the time at work with TV shows and movies.  I have been known to blast through entire seasons in one day if circumstances line up right, and I'm ok with this.  Y'all know I love stories.  And I'm sure I'll go back to watching all the different shows I'm working on (Buffy, Blue Bloods, ST:TNG, The Office, Ally McBeal, Boston Legal, Once Upon A Time, Bones, Supernatural, and Criminal Minds, among others) eventually.   

In my initial enthusiasm I tried out several additional programs that I quickly discarded.  I find that what I really enjoy are the shows that pick a specific idea, theme, or item and dig into it.  Though there are only 6 episodes thusfar, Invisibilia has become my favorite.  It focuses on "the invisible forces which influence human behavior".  Every episode was engrossing!

As I've steeped myself in them for the last couple of days, I have discovered that the podcasts I'm listening to are an entirely different experience than my usual TV marathons.  It must be admitted that I view TV passively.  I almost never break a show down and analyze it.  Rarely is my mind sparked by an interesting idea.  On the contrary, my brain has a tendency to simply shut off and I am mindlessly entertained.  In contrast, I have found myself invigorated by the shows I've listened to this week.  

It's a combination of several factors I think.  I have the initial enjoyment of learning something new, often on a topic I'd never have otherwise encountered.  My secondary enjoyment is in thinking further on the ideas I've just learned about--finding my own implications and possibilities not necessarily elaborated on the show.  And lastly, I am rediscovering my own love of information which has been dormant for kind of a long time I'm realizing.  I listen to these shows and I want to make my own.  Pick my own obscure topics to research and report on.  I'm remembering my interest in fairy tales and storytelling mechanics and wondering if I could put together a show about those things.  I'm writing this blog post after two months of blog neglect.

this has nothing to do with anything, but its funny and I couldn't find
a Heart and Brain about going to the gym.

Sometimes I see people on facebook posting statuses about how they've been slacking on their workouts, but they finally got back in the gym, and it feels so great!  I don't think I'm ever going to be one of those people.  Going to the gym will always suck.  But diving into hours of information for the love of information is reminding me that I do love working out my brain. 

And that I've been slacking on that for a while.  

And it feels really really great give my brain a little stretch.

Anne Shirley is my role model

Over the last week I've been rereading the Anne books.  Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, and I've just started Anne of the Island.  In one of the most popular posts on my blog I list 5 books I believe every girl should read before she is 20 (I neglected to elaborate in that post that I actually think every human should read those books even if they've already passed the age of 20 and/or male).  But despite my advice, I realized the other day that I hadn't revisited Anne in years and years.

Returning to Avonlea has been a surprisingly fraught experience.  Of course it has been in many ways delightful.  Anne is very much a Manic Pixie Dream Girl in the very best sense possible (particularly in that she is also a fully developed character) and stepping into her world is  like living the experience of the sad sappy guy in the typical MPDG movie.  You see the world anew through Anne's big, beautiful eyes and you remember how lovely it is.  You feel optimistic not only about the world, but about your potential within it.

And yet, that very optimism became a bit of a double edged sword for me.  This is the first time I have visited Anne, I believe, since before I graduated high school.  The last time I read these words I was not yet 20 myself:

[Miss Stacy] said we couldn't be too careful what habits we formed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by the time we were twenty our characters would be developed and the foundation laid for our whole future life.  And she said if the foundation was shaky we could never build anything really worth while on it.

I'm 28 now, and I confess that, though I hadn't put those words to it, essentially I worry if my foundation is shaky.  I struggle a lot these days with a feeling of pragmatic worthlessness.  Which is to say, sure I have the intrinsic value that all humans on this earth share, but beyond that my life adds very little to the world.  And I mean that very literally.  I produce nothing.  I give nothing.  I accomplish nothing from one day to the next.

Reading this beautiful story about a beautiful girl who walks through the world actively trying to enrich it in every way she can has made me sad.  Because at 16 Anne Shirley is more of a woman than I am at nearly twice that age. I grew up reading these books about these great women and I wanted to be one of them too.  But I am so far from being an Anne or a Jo or an Elnora.  It is difficult for me to believe I'm even on the path to become like them.   Honestly I'm not sure I can be, at this point.  So while I have loved visiting Anne and Marilla and reacquainting myself with their wholesome, beautiful outlook on life I find myself feeling...hypocritical and disappointed.

One of my coping strategies in life is to remind myself that I have plenty of time left and if I am not perfect today, I still have tomorrow and many days thereafter to work on it.  And that is true.  But 17 year old Anne is reminding me that time is also precious and once it is past I cannot get it back.  And I am regretting that I have spent 28 years accomplishing so little.

Nesting in the Nest

Well, as it's been just shy of two weeks since I moved into my new place, I suppose it's time I posted an update about it.  I tried to come up with just the right name for it and I was drifting towards "treehouse" but then I remembered that my friend Katie Pilkington calls her place her treehouse and even though I'm sure she wouldn't mind me using the name too (especially since she lives literally all the way across the country), I still felt like a fourth grade copycat.  So instead I've settled on calling it my nest.  And while a part of me rebels against that name as being far too cutesy for me, another, louder part of me says that cutesy can go screw itself because I can use whatever words I want.  So "nest" it is.

And guys, can I just say...I absofreakinglutely love it.  

I never realized just how disconnected I've been from all of my communal homes until I had one that was all mine that I could really invest in.  It actively makes me happy to wash my dishes and to fold my laundry and to do all the other chores I've typically hated.  Because I know that I am doing them for myself, and if I leave and come back home, everything will still be in exactly the same state I left it.  It is seriously unbelievable what a difference it turns out that makes to me.

And part of my love is the specific apartment I've found.  If I was in a generic modern place I don't think I would feel half so happy.  But I'm not in a generic cookie-cutter apartment.  I finally stopped a few days ago and actually looked at the historical plate beside the door.  This building was built at the end of the 19th century.  That's right, not the last century, but the one before.  That is amazing!  And as a person who has always dreamed of living in an old building, I cannot imagine a more perfect place for me.

Which is not to say that my little nest doesn't have it's...eccentricities.  As I've said several times, the small irritations make the overall enjoyment all the sweeter.  And my little nest does indeed have it's few annoyances.  Mostly these exist in the bathroom, the one aspect of my little home that I find difficult to deal with.  I was going to enumerate on this point, but I decided that if you really want to hear my struggles, you can just ask me.  Otherwise we'll just say...it is an ongoing adjustment, and leave it at that.

Interestingly, a very large part of what I love about my place is all the plans I have for improving it.  Every time I think about this I hear the line in Leap Year when Amy Adams is talking about the apartment she's trying to get and she says "It's perfect, and I already know exactly how I'm going to change it."  But I think the prospect of being able to have home improvement projects is a significant part of the appeal of this place.  All part of that investing I was talking about. 

Anyway, currently, my list of major projects for this place is as follows:

• paint the main room
• build a loft stand for my bed
• either buy a bookshelf or install shelves to get my boxes of books and movies off the floor
• put shelves in the bathroom

The last item is important, but not pressing so I don't really worry about it.  But the first three have been stressing me out since I moved in.  Obvious as it seems, I had to sit down the other night and specifically list out and order my projects so that I could start to come to grips with them.  Simply realizing that I had to paint first before I did anything else was a big deal.  It gives me a place to start and a timeline: I want my dad to help me build my bed stand, and my parents are planning on coming down for a visit in May, so that means I have to get my apartment painted by the end of April.  Ok.

So that is where I am right now.  My plan for tomorrow is to go to the Sherwin Williams next door and pick out the colors I want to paint and bring them 'round for a final sign off from my landlord (if she approves my colors then she will reimburse me for the cost of the paint).  I'm also hoping to start the process of taping everything off tomorrow.  Possibly.  I might just get the colors finalized because baby steps help me not get overwhelmed and just give up.  If I can break the painting task up into micro tasks then hopefully I can actually accomplish it.  But I will say, it is nice to have actual projects that have actual value and discernable results.  One of the perpetual struggles of my life the last few months is an overwhelming sense of "what is even the point of this???"  But fixing up my apartment?  I can definitely see the point to that! 

So...yeah.  That's what is up.  Unfortunately, it's kind of impossible for my place to look clean and neat right now, so I don't really want to post any pictures yet.  Not till they can be the before of the "before and after" series.  But eventually, if you are interested, you shall have some.  

If you're not interested then I have to ask you why you're even here reading this post...?

Therapeutical Musings

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. ~ Leo Tolstoy

I mentioned in an earlier post that I've started going to a therapist.   I've now been to see Alan 3 times. Each time has been unique, and at any given moment my mind might have changed about how I feel about the endeavor overall.  But if you all would indulge me, I’d like to share some of my thoughts about it.

My first visit I had no idea what to expect.  The Bishop told me to go so that we could determine whether or not I have anxiety and, if so, get me some medication to fix the problem.  I was pretty sure I didn't have clinical anxiety, but why not check.  I then proceeded to have one of the worst, most anxious and stressed out weeks of my entire life just a little while before going in for my appointment.  It was really superlatively awful, but it sort of primed me to think that maybe I DO have prescription-level anxiety issues.  So I went in incredibly nervous about so many things.  Alan was very nice, but nevertheless, I left feeling absolutely emotionally disheveled.  I felt as though I'd just spent an hour having someone poke and pick at me and try to break me down into my constituent bits and I absolutely hated it.  Full disclosure: I sat in my car and cried for several minutes afterward, and spent the entire drive down to work fighting to regain my composure.

I tried to figure out what made that first visit so stressful and unpleasant and I came up with a few ideas.  I kept fixating on this one moment as I was leaving when Alan patted me on the shoulder and said “you did great”.  The sort of thing you say to someone who is clearly on the verge of melting down (which, annoyingly, was basically what I did as soon as I left his office).  He had said it because he could tell I was barely holding it together.  But why was I barely holding it together?  Why had I been so nervous?  I decided that I shouldn’t be nervous.  I decided that I should take charge on my next visit.  I wasn’t a person who struggles to hold it together.  I’m not a person who cries in my car.  He hadn’t really seen the real me.  So next time I was going to go in there and make it very very clear who the real me is, and let him know that I’m really a normal, well-adjusted human.  And that is exactly what I did.  I told him I was fine, things were fine, the world was fine, and his time would probably be much better used helping people with actual real problems.  And at the end of the visit he basically told me “If you actually want to work on anything then I’m more than willing.  But if you don’t then why come in again?” 

That was a very good question and I thought about it for the two weeks till my next appointment.  And the more I thought the less I knew.  On the one hand, I am by no means so arrogant as to think that I am the one person on earth who wouldn’t benefit from going to therapy.  And I certainly do have my fair share of issues I’d like to figure out.  On the other hand, I was having a really hard time understanding how talking to a random guy I’d met twice before in my life was going to help me.  What was he going to tell me that I hadn’t already thought of?  In spite of these doubts, I decided to go back for my third visit.  And in deciding I also decided to commit to opening myself up more like my first visit.  I just saw an episode of Blue Bloods where Frank goes to see a therapist and after several attempts the therapist says “Frank, you’re a very intelligent man and I have no doubt you’d be able to successfully evade my questions all day.”  In my case, it proved nothing to sidestep questions, and refusing to be at all vulnerable would shut me out from any kind of growth.  So I committed to letting myself be at least a little vulnerable. 

And I did.  I went back for my third visit this week.  I talked through many of my concerns and doubts about continuing to come.  Alan was able to explain to me more clearly the format he adopts in his sessions.  He believes that there is value in simply experiencing emotions with someone, and then understanding the whys and hows of those emotions and growing from them.  Very very foreign approach to me.  But I figured that if I was going to try then I had to trust him.  And perhaps his style, so very very different from mine, will be good for me. 

Alan’s format is, rather than to ask specific questions or address “assignments” from before, to have me simply tell him about my life and my concerns and what has been bothering me.  I was kind of shocked by how hard that ended up being for me.  Some of my friends, like Matt or Kara or Caleb, know that I can definitely vent when someone or something is annoying.  But to simply start talking to a relative stranger about all the negative things that I had thought and felt for the previous two weeks?  It was unexpectedly formidable.  And even though I’m trying to trust Alan and his system, I am still having a hard time reconciling myself to the idea.  To me, it feels like I am indulging in the worst aspects of my nature.  The parts of me that I should be working to change.  If I give voice to them then that is giving them that much more legitimacy. 

When I brought this up to Alan he had some explanation, but he also said that I don’t have to worry because he knows I’m a good person and nothing I say is going to make him think differently.  When he said it I had one of those uncomfortable moments of realization that yes, in fact, I am exactly like every single other human out there.  Everyone worries about making themselves look bad.  You don’t share your secrets with strangers because you don’t trust that stranger to judge you rightly.  So Alan was giving me the assurance that I didn’t need to have that worry; that he was going to judge me rightly.

But on the other hand, that didn’t feel like the whole problem.  I understand that this is Alan’s job and that he knows how to listen to people without judgment. 

But what about me?

If I start telling someone else all my struggles and all my emotions then how can I continue believing that I am a good person?

You know that feeling that they say we all get, that we are pretending in a world full of people who actually have it together?  That voice, telling you that you are a pretender, it is the voice I am so afraid of.  It is the constant conscience who will not be silenced.  The one who evaluates everything you are and finds it wanting.  The one that hears other people praising you and whispers “but they don’t really know…” 

All of the things that Alan wants me to share, they are the fodder for that voice.  If I keep them locked up and never allow them the life of another person’s hearing then I can keep the voice quiet enough to ignore most of the time.  I can go on believing myself to be strong and intelligent and sensible and together.  Yes, I have this endless litany in my head of all the ways that is not true, but I never speak them, I never let them out.  I never dignify them with acknowledgement.  I am terrified that if I do I won’t be able to ignore them anymore. 

I’m not worried that Alan will think I’m a bad person, I’m worried that I’ll finally believe that I am. 

No one wants to think that there is something wrong with them.  We all want to be well-adjusted, fully functioning human adults.  But ultimately I don’t think there is any person so normal and so happy and so sensible that if you look closely enough you won’t find that they are a little bit broken somewhere.  I know this.  So I guess talking to a therapist is supposed to reconcile me to it in myself.  They say the first step is admitting you have a problem…

Therapy session: Residence Upheaval Edition

According to my therapist (cause I have one of those now) I need to work on forming connections with people that involve more trust so that I can go to those people when I'm having all the anxiety because that is how you're supposed to deal with anxiety.

I respectfully disagree with my therapist.

See, I agree that I don't really talk to people when I'm in the midst of an anxiety-induced meltdown.  But that is because there is no point.  I mean, sure, talking to people about issues is probably a good thing, but only if you're in a state to use their added perspective and insight.  And mid-panic?  I'm not in a state to do or use anything.  Hence, as I told ye olde therapist, I will talk to people before a freak out, and after a freak out, and even when there are no freakouts in sight fore or aft, but not during.  During I just lay facedown on the bedroom floor and breathe deeply.

But because there's no point going to see a therapist if you just dismiss what he tells you, I am writing this blog post as an initial foray into the sharing my feelings mid (or rather, on the tail end of) a major stress out.  That said, this is likely to be superlatively boring, so feel free to move along.

Today's stress is brought to you by the letter M, for Moving.

Tomorrow I sign a contract on a new apartment.  A faux studio apartment (technically there is a separate kitchen and bedroom/livingroom).

First, let us establish the advantages of this decision.  The apartment is very cool, located in a historic building, with oodles of personality.  And it would be mine exclusively.  I would, for the first time ever, have a home that belonged to no one besides me.  My own bathroom.  My own fridge.  My own sink with no dishes in it but the ones I put there.  And speaking of dishes, the only person to break or lose them would be me.  Indeed, there would be no one to break, ruin, or damage ANY of my stuff besides myself.  I literally cannot express to you how amazing that sounds...

But now for other side of things.

This place is small.  I mean, seriously tiny.  My current bedroom might very well be bigger than the main room.  And there is no other additional storage space.  When I try and think about condensing all of my stuff down into one very tiny room my brain just blanks out.  I have a few vague ideas but ultimately I'm not actually sure it will be possible.  And while I can probably get rid of a lot of stuff, there is a lot of stuff I can't get rid of.  Like the boxes of stuff from my grandma.  Like my books.  I don't know what I'll do...

The rent, while incredibly reasonable for a one-person place, is still a significant increase from what I'm paying now.  My disposable income is basically going to be decimated.  This includes my food budget.  I'm going to have to make a major adjustment in my lifestyle...though honestly that isn't necessarily a bad thing.  Just difficult.

The apartment will be available at the beginning of March, which means that I have less than a month to figure everything out and get all packed up and ready to go.  Which leads to to the final and most stressful of all the problems.  Thusfar, all my issues are things that ultimately I can figure out.  It might take some work, but I have the power to manage them.  The last problem is somewhat less under my control, and that is the problem of my current contract.  Just after I put in my application for the apartment I found out that my old roommate Callie was moving back to Provo through August and we both got really excited about her buying my contract.  But as it turns out, it probably will make a lot more sense for her not to buy it.  Which is awesome for her, but rather drops the floor out from under me.  I now have only 24 days to find someone to buy my contract and I am seriously stressed.

Everyone keeps telling me that it won't be a problem.  I'll be able to sell it so so easily.  But the fact is the one time I ever tried to sell a housing contract I ended up paying double rent for three or four months before I managed it.  I was fortunate to be able to manage it then, but there is literally no way I can do that this time.  And I have a lot less cushion before that becomes an issue this time, too.

In addition to all that general stress, I had the particular stress of trying to figure out how, by tomorrow, I was going to pay $360 of rent for my current place plus $450 of deposit for the new one, and I only had $273 in my checking account.  This problem swerved into a detour of hunting desperately for the checks I ordered last year that truly seem to have dissolved into their constituent atoms because I have literally searched every single place they could possibly exist.  Luckily, during my 2nd or 11th hour of searching, Blair informed me that I can go to the bank and pay them $1 per check to print them out for me right there.  I am not exaggerating when I say that this information brought tears to my eyes.  And with it, I am able to MacGyver my way through to Friday when, mercifully, I get paid.  Timing has not worked out for me this week...

And there you have it.  I am sharing my anxiety with others in the hope that doing so will somehow alleviate it.  And, score one for the therapist, I'll admit that on most of the points I do feel marginally better for laying them all out.  Selling my contract remains the aggressive gorrilla in the room, but the rest has diminished to conceivable proportions.

Or perhaps I've simply run out of energy to continue stressing tonight and will begin afresh tomorrow.  Only time will tell...

The philosophical ramifications of external versus internal perception

Tonight I was told, for about the zillionth time, that I am intimidating.  In this instance the description was used as a compliment, but that hasn't always been the case.  I have been told by a relatively large number of roommates that they found me intimidating, even to the point of frightening, for months of living together.  Bishops, friends, and people I hardly know have all described me this way.

This phenomenon is fascinating to me in a very weird way.  I do not feel intimidating.  I do not think of my self as even slightly scary.  On the contrary, I think of myself as the person being intimidated and the person who is afraid.  I spend my life oscillating gently between anxiety and awkward confusion.

My friend tonight tied my aura of intimidation to my utter lack of bothers given, my confidence in my self and my own decisions, and even the way I carry myself.  Bless his heart.  I guess that does imply that I'm not losing my eternal battle with my posture quite as badly as I thought I was.  But aside from that, the rest of his explanation is a pretty constant theme from others I've spoken to.  People tell me I brook no nonsense and put up with no bullshit.  They tell me I'm confident.  So many people tell me this.

I, on the other hand, feel like I am a person who will accept rather a lot of both nonsense and bullshit.  I mean, I like to say that I don't put up with it, but it is one of those "say it and maybe it will come true" situations.  And confident?  I question pretty much every decision I ever make.  Endlessly.  It is exhausting.

So who do I believe?

That I have these feelings is significant.  I create myself, and my thoughts and feelings are the molecules I use for that creation.  I can't exactly experience life any way but the way I experience it...if that statement wasn't so recursive as to implode on itself.  Basically, to see myself as a particular kind of person is to be that kind of person.  

But at the same time, I must distrust my own opinion of myself.  I've talked about my struggles with self-image and confidence and self-love.  I know that I am a sufferer of mental dysmorphic disorder (which is a thing I just made up) wherein the image I see in my mental mirror is not necessarily accurate to the truth.  I'd like to think that there is an intrinsic me that is independent of my awareness and opinion of it.  But are the opinions of the people around me the way to discover that immutable part?  Does the constancy of the feedback lend it credibility?  I suppose it must, at least to some extent.  

Do I want to be intimidating?  My friend told me it was a good thing, and I do strive to live my life accountable to no one but myself--successfully or not.  But shouldn't I be able to do that without frightening people?  

Another friend once told me that he would rather intimidate people than risk not being taken seriously.  I'll admit, there is a certain gratification in knowing that people so far from seeing your insecurities, see the reverse.  But I'm not sure that I agree with my friend.  That is, I certainly wish to be taken seriously, but I don't think that intimidation is the only or even the best way to achieve that goal.  And while I do like to believe in that immutable core of the self existing independently of the conscious and reasoning mind--which sometimes perceives inaccurately--somehow I also believe that that core is capable of change and growth.  Or at least, I can change the way I express it.