I have been in full on survival mode for a while now, and haven't really had the time to write out any self reflection. Also, I haven't had the energy to be witty, and why write if you can't be witty?
I'm still not witty, but I figured it was time to write anyways. Because if there is anything that the past few months have taught me, it's that I have a surprisingly unhealthy relationship with ego. Surprising to me at least. The things I thought I was humble about? Didn't actually matter. The things I wasn't really humble about but was really good at hiding that fact from myself? Kind of huge, and an intrinsic part of self.
Needing to be witty, or deep, or at LEAST entertaining, has held me back in many different forms of expression for a very long time.
Margaret Atwood says to write like no one will ever read what you have to say, including yourself. Write, and never re-read. Just write.
I've never been able to do that. Because what I write has to have meaning to others. I rarely write for myself. I write for an audience. I just stopped and re-read everything I just wrote. And I'll probably do that another 5 times before I'm finished this short post. It would take a monumental act of self discipline for me to not obsessively re-read what I have written for the public eye.
I know why I do it. I, vaguely, know the benefits of not doing it.
That could be an interesting upcoming self challenge. Write every day, and never read what I've written again. Holy crap, even typing that out made me nervous! Which means it's a challenge I really should do...
I'm on the hunt for new challenges. After the past couple of months, I feel like I've both lost the purpose that was secretly driving me for years and gained the knowledge that I can do fucking anything. So I am tempted to challenge myself to actually do anything. Except, apparently, fly, because that's the first thought that popped into my head and which my brain immediately dismissed. Soon. Very soon.
Maybe sooner than I like. My new job... ugh. My new job. I hate those words. Because I want my new job to be being an obscenely wealthy philanthropist, and that's definitely not my new job title. My new job title contains the words Coordinator, Disaster Recovery, for, and The Americas. The fact that the word coordinator is in my new official job title should be terrifying to anyone who knows me, and is terrifying to myself. The fact that my job title involves not one, but two continents, is also disconcerting. I woke up at 5am this morning, anxiously thinking about the many phone meetings I'm going to have to be running over the next year. Now, I'm not anxious about one in particular, because I haven't scheduled any yet. I'm just anxious about the vague concept of the meetings themselves. Because I get social anxiety on the phone. And my new job is, like, 95% phone coordination with giant groups of people. So that's fucking great.
Did I mention that I didn't get a raise to go with this new title? Yeah. I could have said no. But I DO like to be challenged, and I was getting very, very bored in my old job. My old easy, comfortable, wonderful job. I'm having breakup regret. It was just so DAMN EASY to do my old boring job. Why did I choose to move on to something new and exciting and not necessarily better?
So, Mexico was good. I don't know if I wrote out the details of my experience here, and I'm practicing not re-reading, so I won't know for a while (until my discipline breaks. So not actually that long), but the details were good. I've been twice so far. This last trip, last week, was easy. Much easier. I had much less money to spend, so that was a little stressful. But I also had much less that needed money spent on it, so that was good. I got to actually walk around this time, not being stuck in a daze of either terror or drugs. I got to interact with people every day, which felt great. I kind of adore Mexican/Latinx culture. And it adores me. Not just the dudes, though I did get more marriage proposals in a 100sq ft radius than I have in my entire life (I'll be analyzing what that did for my ego later). But I got along with everyone. I talked, and I chatted, and I listened, and I sat in companionable silence, and it was good. It reinforced the knowledge that I will be retiring someplace warm someday, both weatherwise and culturally. I need to be surrounded by people who look back at you when you look at them. I know I am extrapolating a LOT based on a very limited experience. But I am not wrong.
That's something to look forward to. I met a man named Johnny on the train down to Yuma. He was Honduran, and a hottie. We spent a lot of time together, and he reminded me that a part of me adores family. A part of me would be very, very happy as a small cog in a giant, chaotic family.
Ok, I have to go feed the animals. That was not a bad bit of writing without thinking about who was reading. Good job, self.
I'm still not witty, but I figured it was time to write anyways. Because if there is anything that the past few months have taught me, it's that I have a surprisingly unhealthy relationship with ego. Surprising to me at least. The things I thought I was humble about? Didn't actually matter. The things I wasn't really humble about but was really good at hiding that fact from myself? Kind of huge, and an intrinsic part of self.
Needing to be witty, or deep, or at LEAST entertaining, has held me back in many different forms of expression for a very long time.
Margaret Atwood says to write like no one will ever read what you have to say, including yourself. Write, and never re-read. Just write.
I've never been able to do that. Because what I write has to have meaning to others. I rarely write for myself. I write for an audience. I just stopped and re-read everything I just wrote. And I'll probably do that another 5 times before I'm finished this short post. It would take a monumental act of self discipline for me to not obsessively re-read what I have written for the public eye.
I know why I do it. I, vaguely, know the benefits of not doing it.
That could be an interesting upcoming self challenge. Write every day, and never read what I've written again. Holy crap, even typing that out made me nervous! Which means it's a challenge I really should do...
I'm on the hunt for new challenges. After the past couple of months, I feel like I've both lost the purpose that was secretly driving me for years and gained the knowledge that I can do fucking anything. So I am tempted to challenge myself to actually do anything. Except, apparently, fly, because that's the first thought that popped into my head and which my brain immediately dismissed. Soon. Very soon.
Maybe sooner than I like. My new job... ugh. My new job. I hate those words. Because I want my new job to be being an obscenely wealthy philanthropist, and that's definitely not my new job title. My new job title contains the words Coordinator, Disaster Recovery, for, and The Americas. The fact that the word coordinator is in my new official job title should be terrifying to anyone who knows me, and is terrifying to myself. The fact that my job title involves not one, but two continents, is also disconcerting. I woke up at 5am this morning, anxiously thinking about the many phone meetings I'm going to have to be running over the next year. Now, I'm not anxious about one in particular, because I haven't scheduled any yet. I'm just anxious about the vague concept of the meetings themselves. Because I get social anxiety on the phone. And my new job is, like, 95% phone coordination with giant groups of people. So that's fucking great.
Did I mention that I didn't get a raise to go with this new title? Yeah. I could have said no. But I DO like to be challenged, and I was getting very, very bored in my old job. My old easy, comfortable, wonderful job. I'm having breakup regret. It was just so DAMN EASY to do my old boring job. Why did I choose to move on to something new and exciting and not necessarily better?
So, Mexico was good. I don't know if I wrote out the details of my experience here, and I'm practicing not re-reading, so I won't know for a while (until my discipline breaks. So not actually that long), but the details were good. I've been twice so far. This last trip, last week, was easy. Much easier. I had much less money to spend, so that was a little stressful. But I also had much less that needed money spent on it, so that was good. I got to actually walk around this time, not being stuck in a daze of either terror or drugs. I got to interact with people every day, which felt great. I kind of adore Mexican/Latinx culture. And it adores me. Not just the dudes, though I did get more marriage proposals in a 100sq ft radius than I have in my entire life (I'll be analyzing what that did for my ego later). But I got along with everyone. I talked, and I chatted, and I listened, and I sat in companionable silence, and it was good. It reinforced the knowledge that I will be retiring someplace warm someday, both weatherwise and culturally. I need to be surrounded by people who look back at you when you look at them. I know I am extrapolating a LOT based on a very limited experience. But I am not wrong.
That's something to look forward to. I met a man named Johnny on the train down to Yuma. He was Honduran, and a hottie. We spent a lot of time together, and he reminded me that a part of me adores family. A part of me would be very, very happy as a small cog in a giant, chaotic family.
Ok, I have to go feed the animals. That was not a bad bit of writing without thinking about who was reading. Good job, self.
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