[This was the post I had finished for Wednesday, March 28. I was running a little behind, and so I wanted to give it a final proofreading, spit shine, and polish before sending it out into the ethos after work.
But then I was fired. That Wednesday. A funny and sad story, my firing, and a bit weird too. All of my best stories are funny and sad and weird.
The. Very. Same. Day.
I’m still processing. But here it is, Easter Sunday, April Fool’s, all riding on the back of a full moon.
I’m still processing, and in the mean time, I’m off to finish doing my hair turquoise.
Because I can. With the exception of a single verb tense, and the addition of this prologue text, I have changed nothing from the time of writing before the termination. It’s just a little bit …odd. ]
…and will happen again.
What do you do when your life becomes unsustainable?
That’s me, my life, right now.
Now, I’m grateful that I have a job; I’m grateful I have fantastic insurance. I am grateful, grateful.
I don’t mean to invalidate the part before the “but.” (Side note: I had read somewhere that when you use the word “but,” everything that comes before it is meaningless. E.g., I love this taco but I am not digging the tortilla. If you don’t like the tortilla, how can you like the taco?)
Late last year I had finally asked my boss to let me go part time. When I was the keeper of the Oomph, I could breeze through my work—physical labor or not—and be done. I could make my deliveries, visit with my staff, find out what was going on with them, and support them in any way I could. I was with it. I was on top of things. All things orderly (except my office), all things on top of. And I could manage it part time.
I was the Ambassador of Quan.
This was me. Making things happen. Granted, not an 11-million dollar deal, but some days it felt like it.
But then I came home. After a full 8 hour day, I had nothing left. Even on the best-of-the-best days, I had nothing left. Laundry piled up. Dishes went undone. I crashed until I slept, and slept until I worked.
And those were the good days.
Over two years ago, I wrote a post about acceptance and self-care and prioritizing for a better life.
I’m doing fabulously in that goal. Except not really. Or even a little.
Once again, I’ve confused the urgent for the important. I believe the concept comes from The 4 hour Work Week. The urgent is all the things that get pushed to the forefront—the doctors visits, the 50 billion things all pressing at once, everything needed yesterday. It’s constant over-stimulation and guaranteed short circuiting.
The important, on the other hand, is the meaningful. It’s our lives: what we do with them, what we make them mean. How we connect and shape our world. It’s our life’s work and not just our job.
It is so damn easy it is to lose sight of the important by buried in the urgent. And I’ve lost sight of the important. I tend to do this. Frequently.
I get a plan in place so that I can build my life around the important, and something happens. Too many demands I’m unable to filter. A flare. A crying fit that starts at one point–perhaps something I cannot physically or mentally do—and ends up hitting each point that is every failure, every hurt feeling, every wrong I’ve ever committed.
It feels like I’m always starting over. One step forward—maybe even as many as three—and ten steps back.
“All of this has happened before and will happen again.” It’s just one of the many ways that Battlestar Galactica stays relevant for me.
Of course, through the lens of feelings, especially when the pain and tears start calling—isn’t really the best way to see anything. It’s at best, very limited vision, and, and, at worst, a confusion of the micro for the macro.
It can be so very, very easy to confuse the immediacy of the moment for its duration.
Nothing is permanent. Everything is transient. Every. Thing.
But when scream-worthy pain lasts for days with no sign of relief, when everything you’ve done wrong parades in front of you like a movie of your greatest hits, that very simple idea can be so very difficult to remember.
Do I have goals? I did. I’ve lost sight of them. I can’t seem to hold onto a single step. Maybe all I ever get is that one step. I don’t have that figured out yet. I don’t have any of this figured out yet.
What I do know is that I refuse to accept that such a limited life is all I get.
It’s officially spring. The time of rebirth, of blooming. Planting, too, for that matter.
Maybe just paying attention to the season is the only step I need for now.