I just had a major breakthrough in my career! I got an internship as a writer at Catholic Charities in Arizona! This is what I have been waiting for! Finally, I can use that degree I fought so hard for.
Through association with friends and acquaintances, who have their own brands of anxiety, I have realized that graduating from college and securing a career is elusive to many who suffer from severe anxiety or chronic depression. I like to keep in touch with others who are also suffering from anxiety as a way of keeping down to earth, realizing every person's situation is not the same as mine. Sometimes I do this through talking with people on an online forum for those suffering from anxiety, Anxiety Social Net.
Way back when, I announced on Anxiety Social Net that I graduated with my bachelor's degree in English. Far from being excited or inspired, one person responded with desperation. How? He wondered how I did it. How? I tried to explain all the help I received from therapy and understanding teachers but it wasn't enough of an explanation. Nothing I could say would be enough to make it seem it could also happen to him.
I can't tell him what the best way is for him to carve out his path in life. All I can say is that there have been so many times when I have simply wanted to give up all hope for myself. But that would have been a mistake. It would be then, and it would be now, and it would be were I to do so in the future. Same for him.
I don't know where this internship is going to take me. But I am grateful to be able to work for Catholic Charities. What an incredible opportunity this will be.
So here I am in my professional portrait studio getting ready for the dance.
Way back in shy girl history, I dreamed about swing dancing. Now I finally live within only a few miles of a swing dance place. Hit it Duke.
I almost stayed home and marinated in stress until it seethed into a sticky carmalization that would hold me down like tar. But all that don't mean a thing when you're dancing.
All I had to think about was the steps, moving to the rhythm, and flying from one dance partner to the next. It was fun. It was dance lessons. After that was over, the real dance began and I sat back and watched. A girl in a wheelchair seemed to have stronger legs than me as she lit up the dance floor.
Inadequacy is something that's in our minds. Why should our faults hold us back?
Just as I was thinking this, a spunky old man with missing teeth, who smelled like alcohol asked me to dance. Okay, so that's not exactly what I had envisioned, but it was still a fun time over all.
Was the dance the stuff dreams are made on? In the Shakespearean sense yes. It potentially was full of sound and fury and signified absolutely nothing. Even though it felt exhilarating for a moment, in the end, when I got home my life was the same as before. But these dances, these moments, are the stuff life is made on--fleeting as they are.
"These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep." -- The Tempest, William Shakespeare
"The way we are living, timorous or bold, will have been our life." --Seamus Heaney
Before I say anything else--This is my first twenty dollars toward Nepal!
When my paycheck came in I had to contemplate. Did I really want to save for Nepal? Like for real? I knew I had been blogging about it for a while. But was this what I really wanted to put my meager earnings into? The answer is--yes. I'm really doing this. So, in addition to budgeting a small amount for my blog in my amazing piggy bank, I now finally have an official Nepal fund.
It's not much...But it's a start.
Earning this money has been an adventure in its own right--the job interviews I had to brave, the students I now work with, it all took some guts.
You would think that since my high school experience wasn't the greatest, it would be hard to work at a high school as an instructional assistant. Surprisingly, in that regard, it's not. I wasn't able to handle the sass that teenagers dished out when I was young, but time has given me a new perspective.
When I was in high school, the teenage attitude seemed intimidating like some kind of drooling behemoth silhouetted against furious storm clouds. But it's all ever been a shadow of a misbehaving puppy. I've realized, simply, that these are children I work with. They act out from boredom and in want of attention
In some ways, my adverse experiences in high school as an adolescent have been a springboard in situations now that require courage. You have to pick your fights in this field. I've been brave enough to fight a few. This, because I have bad memories of that behemoth--of people simply being allowed to be jerks.
These "courageous deeds" may be easy for some, but for someone who is as shy as myself they did require me to muster some courage. I've stopped students from using language that is demeaning to others, such as "fag." Complaints followed directly of my being uptight. But this doesn't make me fear for my reputation among the students (which is not exactly my main concern). The student was embarrassed for having been corrected and I don't hold it against her for dealing with it so. I hate being corrected.
Today, I had to speak up again. The teacher stepped out for a few minutes and I was briefly left alone with a room full of students, who were waiting for the bell to ring. They began gossiping about another student, from a different school, and comparing his looks to that of an animal. I could have just let the students go about their business since kids will be kids and I don't want any trouble. But I couldn't. Not knowing what I know from personal experience. This looks like simple immaturity from my adult perspective, but is actually quite monstrous and demeaning from the perspective of students in the class, who may have been picked on in a similar fashion. Also, they just had to know it was wrong.
"Hey," I said calmly, " All right you guys. I don't like the way you're talking."
"But you don't even know the person," came the reply.
I raised my eyebrows- a kind of behemoth in its own right, coming from a teacher figure- "Generally, I think it's a good idea to treat all people with respect." The class was quiet for a second.
One student turned around in his seat seemingly amused by my naivete, yet a little unsure of himself "that's not how the world is."
"It can be if you choose it to be" I said. The class didn't bother arguing.
Who knows if someone else could have handled it better. But the point is that because of my past fears, I was unafraid. I knew I needed to say something and I did. And I am grateful for the insight that life has given me--that my fear could turn into courage.
It all started when I went to the Renaissance Festival for my sis-in-law's birthday.
I was hesitant to ride the elephant partly because I didn't want to sit up close next to a stranger, partly because all I saw was little kids riding. All the people would see me. I felt the weight of each pair of eyes in the crowd like a million paparazzi cameras ready to shoot a stack of tabloids and drop them on my head. So I decided not to ride the elephant. Even though, secretly, I was dying to ride the elephant.
Have you ever felt like that? Where there is something you really want to do, but you're too afraid of what everyone will think?
"I'll come with you," my brother said. That was enough encouragement for me. We climbed the stairs and hopped on the elephant. And yes--I sat next to a stranger.
I sat between my brother and an eight year old boy, my "stranger." This only made me feel comfortable. The little boy seemed to be excited about the ride and a little scared of the wobbling. It gave me something to talk about. I told him not to worry, because the elephant would walk very slowly.
The biggest disappointment by far for the little boy was that when we walked past a mud puddle, the elephant did not dip his trunk in and spray us.
We dismounted, and I stopped on the elevated platform before going down the stairs. I hesitated because I didn't know if I was allowed to. But I reached my hand over the railing and touched the elephant's head.
His skin was coarse and cracked with stiff hair. I looked at his big, black, tired eyes as I touched his dirty skin. I was about to turn away, eager to flee before I was "caught," when I saw the elephant's trunk rise toward me. His black eye fixed on me from behind thick eyelashes as he locked his trunk with my arm. His grip was incredibly strong and firm.
As I was standing there, holding the elephant's trunk, I felt some kind of ancient elephant wisdom, which seemed to flow through his trunk and up my arm in pure love and loyalty. In that moment, it didn't seem to matter what anyone thought about me at all. The whole world and all the "paparazzi" in it dropped into obscurity. An elephant had hugged my arm. Suddenly, the foremost opinion in the world that mattered to me wasn't that of a stranger, a teacher, a coworker, or of a boss. It was of an elephant. An elephant gave me a hug. I walked away with an air of whimsy and love.
Sometimes, I wonder if God's love doesn't manifest itself in animals, who often love people regardless. Perhaps elephants don't forget. But I'm always going to feel better about my inherent worth as a human being when I remember my elephant hug.
It has been quite an adventure. I love the
palm trees reaching up to the blue sky, the splashes of orange fruit
trees, and mountains canvased on the horizon. In the summer, I hear you
can smell the oranges.
There are adventures all over the place-- dances, hikes, dinners, games. In spite of the arid climate, which provides little nourishment to the rocky landscape, there are many opportunities for blossoming!
I'm not going to lie though. I was very flustered at first. I didn't believe I would have more luck getting a job here than I would in Illinois. And I didn't-- until I applied to Mesa Public Schools.
Jackpot! I filled out one online application. One. This one application was distributed to all the schools in the area, and there are a lot. I struck gold. I got around ten job interviews within two weeks. I was rolling in the interviews.
I was not, however, rolling in the Benjamins, much less in sanity. Fear and trepidation drove me to cancel a few interviews. Waiting for rejections (in my mind) along with the constant scrutiny of my competence, which comes with interviewing, was overwhelming.
Yet, like a true adventurer, I forged onward! Like the immense hero (that I am) I sallied forth! Into the great unknown-- public transportation.
I did not yet have money for my own transportation. On my second bus connection to my interview I had so courageously committed to, I sat waiting at my bus stop. My heart dropped, however, as I watched my bus pass me by. It was the wrong bus stop. It was the wrong one. "Oh crap." Was another bus coming? How long would I have to wait? "Oh crap." I had a great internal struggle about how to proceed and I didn't have a lot of time to think.
Well, I didn't have anything else to do, so I thought I might as well walk the hour and a half to my interview. Great idea. Right? ... Right?
Sweat drenched my clothes as blisters formed on my feet. My puny muscles were not used to walking for so long. After a while, it seemed I had been walking forever yet the end of my trip seemed so distant.
Meanwhile hundreds of cars passed me on the highway...all these cars and not one for me. I was like a person wandering through the desert without water while a caravan of strangers passed me with water laden camels. I passed a buffalo skull in someone's yard. Oh yeah, I was in the desert. Like literally. And I was thirsty for water. And I was dying for transportation.
I couldn't take much more and several times I thought of just calling a taxi and skipping the whole charade. How worth it would this be if I didn't get the job? But somehow I made it. I was five minutes late. But I made it. I called a taxi to take me home after the interview.
The next day, I was rejected.
That episode blew me to smithereens.
I cancelled the next couple of interviews as I took some time to recover emotionally, and physically for that matter. I still have a blister on one of my toes! That toe did not want to be walked on ever again!
After a couple days, I was back on my feet. I got yet another interview. A friend gave me a ride thankfully. As I was leaving, my interviewer said, "I look forward to working with you."
"Did I hear her right?" She didn't say she would get back to me...She said she looked forward to working with me? Within hours after returning home I was called with a job offer.
My response?
I danced around the house for a very long time.
So now, FINALLY, I am well on my way to employment!
It's time for me to start packing. Because...wait for it, wait for it, wait for it-- I'm moving to Mesa Arizona! Woooooo! There are a TON of reasons why this is a good idea.
1) Mesa is big. It might have so many job opportunities. Perhaps I will be able to finally start saving for Nepal!
2) Practicing my drawing skills with my amazingly awesome sister-in-law to draw even cooler pics for the blog.
3) Eating places besides regular places.
4) More people!
5) I can indulge in my new hobby and sell jewelry on the side without having to sell online!
6) A CHANCE FOR A FRESH START AT LIFE!
Ah yes, breath deeply the sweet aroma of opportunity. Take it all in...
But first...
PANIC!
7...
6...
5...
AHH! Wait-- stop the countdown! Am I seriously ready to abandon the life I know? I am scared poopless (Is that a phrase? No. That is not a phrase. Don't repeat that.)
I struggle with getting myself packed and ready. In fact, I've been lying in bed depressed in spite of the great opportunities I know that are out there. Just think...I would have to go somewhere where no one knows me and try to make friends. I'll be one little drop in a sea of people I don't know. There will be so many people to compare myself to and fall short of. So many people to not notice me or reject me. It's scary. And how will I be able to keep my head above water and keep up with all the responsibility?
Also, a little sweetie pie was heartbroken at my going. My five year old nephew and I have been very close ever since day one.
When I told him I was leaving, the look on his face sliced right through my aortic valve, cleaved my pulmonary artery in two, and spilled open my right atrium. That look has been cemented into my brain for the past few weeks. He said, "Why? Why are you leaving?" And when I told him there wasn't anything for me here he said, "But there's me. I'm here," and he began sobbing. We hugged and cried for a long time. He looked up at me and pointed at the pink and white striped, fuzzy gloves he had gotten me for Christmas. He said "take my gloves with you and wear them whenever you're missing me." It was so difficult for him to say that he almost couldn't finish, and his pain shot through his face like burning shrapnel that left a scar in my memory.
This shy girl is going to need a lot of courage to go on this new adventure...So here goes!
