Onward! Launch Time has Arrived

Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they're supposed to help you discover who you are.

Bernice Johnson Reagon

I'm lolling about in the confines of a very warm bed. My husband awoke me hours ago with a cup of coffee, yet it has begun to rain and the drops on the tin roof provide a rhythm that makes being under the covers much too inviting. Besides, getting up means all that Christmas mess needs my assistance to attain its resting place for another year. Also the piles of paperwork hidden in vast recesses from visiting company's view need pulling out for assessment of any urgency long put off. Laundry, grocery shopping, life brought up to date to begin the new year, awaits me.

Before I head into that routine however, I require a more defined reminder of my desired accomplishments for this year - the writing I want to pursue, the perfect resume I want to design for that jobhunt, the time with my youngest son I want to treasure before he leaves to begin his very own life next fall.

Seems overwhelming as I list these items, and I'm tempted to put away the pages of my journal and close the cover of my laptop. Snuggling under the covers for one more nap sounds most inviting. But instead I stick with it for what the practice of writing brings me. By putting my fears, my needs, my work into tangible words, I leave not only a plan on the page, but some of the anxiety as well.

By getting it down, the multitude of ideas and tasks floating like electrons and protons and neutrons around my brain have an opportunity to slow and settle, making then easier to distribute into a plan. The protons line up with the electrons to offer cause and effect. The neutrons float freely to be plucked as needed for reminders as to why any of this is done at all. For me, the tightening of the circular option gives me pause to prepare for the forward movement. A chance to take that needed breath and say, "Oh well," before pushing on into the subjective unknown of forward movement. Hopefully, I take some form of directions with me.

The new year begins. With weddings, graduations, empty nests, uncertainty before me, this will be a year filled with new roads. Possibly many unpaved and filled with ruts to dodge. I hope all my previous map reading helps me stay on a road - most of the time. Or else have the means to handle the detours and diversions with a steady heart and patient mind.

Onward!

Meanwhile, An Opportunity Knocks

[I]f one wants to get a boat ride, one must be near the river.

Anchee Min, Becoming Madame Mao

A brief note of progress on the job hunting venture. No, I'm not going to read high school essays again. Might be worse. I signed up for substitute teaching.

Even though I have decided I don't want to teach high school again, I did sign up for subbing when the opportunity opened. Last school year, many districts had an overabundant onslaught of applicants for substitutes. When things were quite dire around my house, the sign up had closed. Hence, I ended up reading high school essays for three miserable months.

A woman who sat in front of me on our sweatshop line would often moan and hold her head as she returned to her seat from one of our two breaks. "This place is the graveyard for the liberal arts major," she cried.

Huh! Couldn't argue with that. Substitute teaching may be another section of that graveyard in regard to the pay, but I do enjoy the kids and will be happy adding to the tuition/food/kid's continuous needs coffers while I continue my journey toward something more permanent.

My application is not yet complete as I need to submit my college transcripts. Where the hell you think my college is going find them? I graduated in 1978.

Can't you picture some poor soul in a clackety elevator slamming deep, down into a musty basement. After pulling the chain attached to a dangling light bulb, he clicks on his flashlight and wanders among the boxes lined to the ceiling. Way back in the far corner, he swishes away a spider's web to find the box marked 1978. For my $5 fee, that good scout will find those pages that prove I was truly there.

Now the grades on those transcripts may not show my mind was there, but, no matter. I got the piece of paper with Bachelors marked on it. All I need.

As to the more permanent pursuit? Of course writing is my favorite thing, as well as reading. But we know how that goes. I've narrowed it down a bit however -- editing, or returning to school for an MFA in Creative Writing.

Not sure I can afford the latter with two in college. But if dreams die.....

How are those of you in transition faring?

Finding My Lane

English usage is sometimes more than mere taste, judgment and education -- sometimes it's sheer luck, like getting across the street.

E.B. White

You know how when you first get on the road with a long, long trip before you, and it takes a while to get comfortable in your seat? That time before you relax and find your line in the road as you’re trying to get out of the city? That’s where I am, although as of today, I’m on the outskirts of town, ready to roll.

The temporary job I have taken involves scoring high school assessment essays. Sort of a No Child Left Behind measure of student abilities. These essays, written by 11th grade students, require a passing mark to attain a diploma. An exit test, as it were. Top Secret stuff this is. I had to sign a Confidentiality Statement vowing not to discuss any of the essays I score. Considering the quality of work I’ve read thus far, forgetting them as fast as I can offers my only option for survival.

Last week, after being exposed to a variety of essays, I found myself appalled at the state of student writing. Took me two days before I decided my only chance for keeping the job was to turn off my brain. To close my editing mind and stop looking for strong verbs and good dialogue, not to mention complete sentences. I wrote on my rubric paper FORGET WHAT YOU KNOW - STAY IN THE BOX.

This paradigm seems to have helped. Friday they turned me loose to score away. Not sure if I’ve dumbed myself down or am better practiced at adapting to any situation after raising three boys. So far my only conversation with a supervisor came this morning when I was moved to another group. Apparently I scored high enough on the qualifying tests that I needed no further training. When we left today, my new supervisor said to others in my group “Did my messages help you see how to score that?” I looked around. We get messages? I didn’t get any.

I have so many topics I want to discuss, but I’m too tired. I’m making a list as I want to address this plight of the stay at home mom returning to work. And the middle—aged women now having to return to the economy after years of supporting their husband in their careers, or post divorce. The difficulties faced by the working woman--period, as well as my musings on all those alongside me in this temporary venture.

Meanwhile, I can tell you I have made it to the YMCA three nights out of five. Last week, 40 minutes on the elliptical aided in lowering my blood pressure while I pined over the state of the written word.

I’m beginning to think this job will be like driving across Nebraska on I-80—one long line where the road goes on forever and the exit ramp never comes.

Friday Night and the Lights Are Out!

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.

Douglas Adams

We had a power failure during the night. Now that I have a monetary concern regarding my morning wakeup time, I find myself glancing at the clock several times during the night. Last night’s fourth or fifth foray into measured sleep failed to illuminate my bedside timepiece. Felt my way to the kitchen to claim my purse and the buried cell phone, after which I brailed my way through the house to discover where I may have left my reading glasses the night before. Upon discovery of reading glasses, the cell phone informed me I had one hour and six minutes more to sleep. I then sat in the dark, wasting precious pillow time, figuring out how to set the alarm on the phone.

I did arrive at work on time and after putting my lunch in the fridge, headed into the bathroom to see if the eyeliner and mascara I had applied by candlelight was anywhere near my eyes. (Thank you Daylight Savings Time.) Then checked to see if my socks matched. I have to tell you, with the possibilities of experiences I considered in this return to work gig, getting dressed in the dark was not on the list.

We have had rain in Texas this week, which is a welcome relief from the months of drought. But I believe moisture is not the reason for the power outage. Last week our neighborhood was littered with white trucks and hard-hatted men leaning on shovels as they replaced the ugly green power boxes with new ugly green power boxes. I’m thinking it's their fault.

Anyway, a more thorough report of my first week at work will come later. Right now, I’m headed to bed. Friday night, in bed by 10. Feels like I’m committing a sin crawling into bed this early, but I don’t care.