Sorry for my sudden disappearance. Life went a little crazy all of a sudden. And by “a little crazy” I mean we moved, I started a new job, and my husband was diagnosed with cancer all within the span of a week. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to focus and keep things moving. So I plan to get back to posting on a semi regular basis, but things will be a bit slow.
I rarely feel like I’ve got my shit together. Most of the time I see the shit and no togetherness whatsoever. Yet at work I’m fairly good at faking it, you have to be as a manager. So this morning one of our newer employees began asking me at what point does a job become a career. Wow, now that is a tough question to be greeted with before the second cup of coffee!
We chatted for a bit and it turns out he is at a point in his school that he has to choose a major and he’s second (and third, and fourth) guessing himself. I explained that that is entirely understandable. I changed majors 3 times before finally completing school (less than a year ago, and more than a decade older than he is). I explained that to me a career is about having growth opportunity. It’s about knowing that there is a path and you’re not stuck. That maybe job vs career means something different to others, but that’s what I needed for me.
It was not what he was expecting to hear and seemed to really make him think. I asked what he did and didn’t like about his work. What he did and didn’t like about his current classes. And then gave him a few things to consider where studying through that path left options open as he fine tuned his skills and desires. But I think what he needs to know more than anything, and what I failed to properly explain today, is that no matter what he’s very likely to succeed. I’ve seen how fast he learns at the office, how calm he is regardless of situation, and how he actively works with his team. As long as he keeps this dedication and work ethic nothing will hold him down.
So to everyone wondering the same thing please remember that your wonderings prove desire and dedication. Your thoughtfulness on these questions shows determination and intelligence. And that is what will bring you far in your career, more so than anything else.
Oh, and one more thing to remember. That manager in the office who you think has her shit together so can answer these questions and help guide you, yeah she’s lost too. You’re not alone in your fear and confusion. But I guess that means I’m not alone either.
I just started to listen to Stephen Kings It on audiobook. When Georgie meets Pennywise at the beginning and then suddenly turns from clown to monster the description of the monster is so freaky. Why? Because it’s not a description. It is a feeling and thought process from the point of view of Georgie. It is an explanation that the monster his imagination comes up with to fear in the cellar is nothing close to what he saw. And to hear this makes you fear this Pennywise creature more than just about any character in a book.
Once I got over the shock and tears of the scene I was hearing I realized, this is much like mental illness. Why is it so hard to describe to those who don’t have it? There really are no words for how terrible this illness can be. And the fact that science is still early in understanding it makes it that much harder. I often speak of my mental illness as the monster in my mind. And sometimes that monster is a creepy clown lurking in the shadows and I can mostly ignore it. And sometimes that clown turns into something so horrifying and overwhelming that it cannot be put into words. I suppose I’ll take my mental Pennywise over the one that Georgie faces, but that doesn’t mean my mental one doesn’t terrify me sometimes.
My husband has no information on his biological father other than the Indian tribe he was from. He never built an interest in his genetic past so didn’t much research the tribe. I however have always had a great deal of appreciation for Native American tribes and their rituals. I have even been honored with the opportunity to be a part of a religious ceremony with a local tribe in my youth. So when I married my husband I began to research his tribe.
My oldest son is a Cub Scout and part of what he’s supposed to review with me is our family’s belief system. Well, our family believes in the First Amendment. That is what we teach and practice in our household. It would be simple enough to go the traditional route of “here’s Christianity in a nutshell. Have fun at your grandparents church” but I wanted to teach my son something new. I went back to the religious practices of his tribe, for which he is one quarter, and thought that would be a good one. But then I became nervous.
He’s awkward to speak to, so may not articulate well what he learns. Someone who does not know him well may take his knowledge the wrong way. If I help him make a headdress with feathers carefully placed in the unique manner his tribe did, then it would be thought that he was being inconsiderate of tribal fashion by those who don’t know what we’re doing. If someone sees me, naturally blonde with green eyes and glow-in-the-dark-white skin, teaching my son about his tribe it will look like I’m misinforming him about Native Americans.
It is not okay that I should fear teaching my children about their ancestral past. It is ridiculous that I should be nervous to teach feather placement and bead color of a headdress. I hate that I can’t speak about Spirit Animals without someone assuming I’m making light of it when they have no idea the amount of research I’ve put into the beliefs. I need to be able to speak with my son about the religious practices of the tribe he comes from even if we don’t live anywhere near it or know who among the tribe he is related to.
I’m doing it anyway. I don’t give a shit what other people think of it, I don’t have patience for that right now. So tomorrow we’re studying the culture and I won’t allow my fear to get in the way this time.
So hubby and I got to chatting about communes, cause that is apparently our version of causal Saturday morning chitchat 🤷♀️ And he said we couldn’t live in one cause it will lead to a suicide pact or an FBI raid. I explained we didn’t need to go THAT far with our commune and tried to bribe him with the prospect of multiple wives. He looked horrified! I’d like to think it was because he couldn’t imagine loving any wife as much as me but let’s face facts here, I’m just too damn high-maintenance for him to imagine having multiple of me to deal with. Sometimes being high-maintenance is a good thing, it means I’m more than enough wife for my husband 💏
Knitting knitting knitting “ah crap”. That is basically the story of this damn sock.
So in case you’re not following, I am knitting socks right now. Knitting is a coping tool for when my brain monster is taking control, so I’ve been doing it a lot lately. I decided to try a sock again, I’ve never successfully finished one but I was feeling hopeful. Upon finishing the ribbing I noticed a mistake in one of the rows. Looks wonky but not overly noticeable so I kept going. Then I finished everything before the heel, success! Furthest I’ve ever made it! Oh wait, my repeat pattern has a mistake a few rows back. I’m really bad at ripping back and picking up stitches so I’ll let it go.
I finished the heel flap yesterday, so proud of myself! And it was done without mistakes! Yay! Started the heel turn. Got to row 9 before I realized I’d done the whole fucking heel turn wrong.
I burst into tears. Hubby was wondering what was wrong. I held up the sock and said it was all screwed up and I should just give up. He said it looked fine and asked what was wrong with it. I pointed to the mistake in the ribbing, the one in the ankle, and then to the heel turn which would fit only if my heel slanted to the left.
Hubby looked at the sock thoughtfully, examined each part I had pointed to, then calmly looked at me and said “I gotta be honest with you. It looks like a sock to me.” 😐
So I went to bed and am trying again today. I had to rip out the heel turn, but couldn’t successfully pick up the stitches in the heel flap, so had to rip back all the way to the last row before starting the heel. Now to start the damn heel again.
Round 1 goes to sock, but Round 2 shall be mine!
I’m breaking down, so I am knitting non-stop. I’ve never successfully made socks, and am trying again. Usually I wouldn’t try a new pattern when breaking down, but my current feeling of constant failure requires a victory. So far I’m doing well and it’s definitely helping. If nothing else I’m proud of the fact that I’ve gotten myself to a point that I can fall back on a self care technique.
I’m trapped in my own mind, stuck with my own company. I live the day picking apart my every action and shoving my own mistakes in my face. I torture myself, I cry, and then I hate myself for the tears. I go to bed at night and the mean part of me takes more control, feeding into my insecurities and stress in dreams. Tearing me apart worse than while awake because now that part of my brain controls all. I want to sleep, but I fear my dreams. I want to cry but fear my response to those tears. I want to scream and push back the part of me that is so filled with hatred, but I’m not strong enough. Or at least that part of me isn’t. I need a break from my own mind. I need to protect that little hurting girl in my mind from the monster currently tearing her apart. But I am that monster. I am both, and so hate both. I’ve been living on energy drinks this week for fear of sleep and for lack of sleep. I need a break. The house is quiet right now, the whole family asleep. My energy drink is wearing off and the TV is no longer blocking out the voices in my head. I need sleep, but it won’t give me the break my mind needs. I refuse to keep sleeping pills in the house specifically for this reason. Because I know I will take too many out of sheer desperation to not dream. So I sit and struggle. I’m safe, but I won’t have a break. I just need a break.
If we were having coffee we’d be sitting on my couch under my favorite quilts drinking white chocolate mochas that my husband went and got us from Starbucks. Assuming you have bribe money to get him to go to Starbucks for us, it’s a bit cold today so we’ll probably need to pay him pretty good to leave the house.
If we were having coffee we’d be sitting and sipping somewhat quietly as we listen to the History Chicks. I recently stumbled on their podcast and can’t turn it off. We would listen intently until suddenly we’re joining the conversation. Cause Beckett and Susan can hear us through my iPad right? If you haven’t heard them before I highly recommend it! If you even vaguely possibly enjoyed some aspect of history, then ignore the child in your brain yelling “but I don’t want to memorize dates for a test!” and put it on. You’ll thank me.
If we were having coffee we would just be relaxing. Last week was a hard one and this week doesn’t look too promising. But today is good. It’s quiet, just the right amount of cold outside (if you don’t listen to my husband), and nothing else need exist. Just us, coffee, and podcasts.
My father is a math teacher. There was a shooting at his school a couple years back. He knew the shooter personally, he saw the victims daily. He remembers fitting 60 kids in his classroom to protect them as shots went off nearby. He went through special courses on helping students through grief for weeks afterward.
I don’t know what can fix this type of thing. I don’t know how to protect our schools. I can’t solve this problem. I’m sorry. But being the daughter of a math teacher I know how to read my numbers.
The likelihood of having someone I love in a school shooting twice is significantly lower than having a loved one in a shooting once. The numbers tell me my children are safe because this won’t happen to my family again. Perhaps I sound selfish or stupid, but everyday I watch my kids get on a school bus and I say goodbye. And some days when the world is dark and I begin to fear for them, I have to rely on the numbers. Math helps me cope with the darkness of this world and the uncertainties in life.
When you fear, find that something you can cling to. Maybe you feel you know an answer to solve the problem, cling to it and share it. Maybe you are strong in your religion, cling to it and have faith in it. Maybe, like me, you have math, cling to it and rest in its certainty.
What ever it is that guides you through the terrible things in this life, keep it close. There are still good things in life, we just need our filter to see them sometimes. My filter is math, and I will use it as best I can.