Sadly enough, the first thing that hits me when I wake up each morning is the fact that I don't have a teaching job. I wake up, and there is that moment. And then the moment of disgust with myself for my own self-pity. I then get up, get my children around to go to their summer day camp, pack their lunches, get myself ready for my day, and take them there. Or sometimes my wife takes them.
I really don't think self-pity in my situation is appropriate. What I should feel is gratitude. I have a job. In many ways, it's a good job. I go in at a time that is convenient for me. I work on days that are convenient for me. I am making a monetary contribution to my household, albeit not a very large one.
On days when I don't go to that job, I go help a friend remodel his house. I get to spend the day with people I like, and I get to learn new skills. While this endeavor doesn't make a monetary contribution to the household, it has allowed me to replace the carpet in my house (badly needed) in exchange for my labor. Very nice carpet, too.
And I have the opportunity to do what I have always said I wanted to do. The flexibility of my schedule allows me to write. I am not emotionally or creatively drained by either job. In fact, they seem to be inspiring me on some levels. I'm writing a novel, and it is going well. I like it.
My future is uncertain, and I don't like that. But everyone's future is uncertain. The uncertainty in mine is just a little more apparent.
Will I get my novel published? I don't know. Will I ever be allowed the opportunity to teach again? I don't know.
I need to concentrate on what I do know, not on what I don't. I know my wife loves me and supports me. I know I have more time for my kids now. I know that writing makes me happy. I know that there are people in my life who believe in me and value me.
I read today about some of the tenets of Eastern religion and philosophy. We should not concentrate on the product of our efforts, but on our efforts themselves. Success and failure are in many ways not in our control, and are actually only a matter of perception. The only thing we can control is what we do and how well we do it, and we should approach what we do with a certain level of dispassion in order to ensure the quality of our work. This goes against much of what we learn in the west. We are told to do things passionately. There are drawbacks to this. One of those is our reaction to failure.
I'm afraid that failure is inevitable. I will fail. But failure is not the end. Failure is an opportunity to learn. Too much emotional investment will result in not gaining all lessons to be learned from that failure, or lessons learned too late.
Maybe this novel will never see the light of day.
A certain quote makes more sense to me now. I am not trying to be published. What I am doing is writing. Publication is not the goal. Writing well is the goal. The quote I refer to is, "Do or do not. There is no try."
I will continue to apply for teaching jobs. This is something I can do. I can't control the outcome, but I can continue to do this.
I will continue to write. And I will submit my writing for publication. This, too, is something I can do.
And I thank everyone who helped create this opportunity for me, no matter the role, up to and including my own.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Head Lice and Other Tragedies
To what extent is it healthy to be able to let go of things beyond individual control?
I always try to think about this sort of thing in two ways. First, I consider it from a secular point of view. I would think that most psychologists and psychoanalysts would consider it perfectly healthy to be able to just dismiss the circumstances and move on. Then I consider it from a more religious stance, and I remember the line from the AA meetings: Let go, let God. We can't control everything, and too strong an inner need to attempt to control everything leads to madness, and in that madness, self-medication.
So what brings up this topic at this time? My daughter. She was due to begin camp today. We had everything packed, she was all ready, and then we arrived at camp. She checked in, then checked in with the nurse. And the nurse found head lice.
I was horrorstruck. I had seen the signs at the day camp where Audra and Jackson are spending their days this summer that they had two confirmed cases. "Doesn't affect me," I thought. "My kids are clean." Guess what? That doesn't matter. I was still operating under the assumption that only dirty people get lice. So not true, I found out. But this isn't about me. This is about my daughter.
My wife broke the news to my daughter like a doctor breaking the news to a cancer patient. "I'm so sorry," she said. I watched Audra's reaction. I also watched her for a reaction to the news she has head lice (had - first stop was Walgreen's for a lice treatment kit and we are still washing every bit of washable fabric in the house and spraying the rest).
There was maybe a flash of disappointment as the news hit home...and then she was off and playing and joking with her younger brother again like nothing had happened. And I wondered, is this healthy?
I didn't want her to have a fit. Or break down in tears. But a little more disappointment seemed a little in order to me.
Of course, this is also the girl, who upon being told that her errant behavior in kindergarten made both me and her mother very said, "Oh, do what I do. If something makes me sad, I just don't think about it."
And she still doesn't. I wonder how it is to be that way. Everything in my life that has ever hurt me or disappointed me or caused me emotional pain seems to within arm's length at any given time. I can distinctly remember the pain of being rejected by peers as a child and by employers as an adult with just a casual foray into my memory.
This doesn't seem to exist for my daughter. And I wonder. Will she be happier than me? I certainly hope so.
I always try to think about this sort of thing in two ways. First, I consider it from a secular point of view. I would think that most psychologists and psychoanalysts would consider it perfectly healthy to be able to just dismiss the circumstances and move on. Then I consider it from a more religious stance, and I remember the line from the AA meetings: Let go, let God. We can't control everything, and too strong an inner need to attempt to control everything leads to madness, and in that madness, self-medication.
So what brings up this topic at this time? My daughter. She was due to begin camp today. We had everything packed, she was all ready, and then we arrived at camp. She checked in, then checked in with the nurse. And the nurse found head lice.
I was horrorstruck. I had seen the signs at the day camp where Audra and Jackson are spending their days this summer that they had two confirmed cases. "Doesn't affect me," I thought. "My kids are clean." Guess what? That doesn't matter. I was still operating under the assumption that only dirty people get lice. So not true, I found out. But this isn't about me. This is about my daughter.
My wife broke the news to my daughter like a doctor breaking the news to a cancer patient. "I'm so sorry," she said. I watched Audra's reaction. I also watched her for a reaction to the news she has head lice (had - first stop was Walgreen's for a lice treatment kit and we are still washing every bit of washable fabric in the house and spraying the rest).
There was maybe a flash of disappointment as the news hit home...and then she was off and playing and joking with her younger brother again like nothing had happened. And I wondered, is this healthy?
I didn't want her to have a fit. Or break down in tears. But a little more disappointment seemed a little in order to me.
Of course, this is also the girl, who upon being told that her errant behavior in kindergarten made both me and her mother very said, "Oh, do what I do. If something makes me sad, I just don't think about it."
And she still doesn't. I wonder how it is to be that way. Everything in my life that has ever hurt me or disappointed me or caused me emotional pain seems to within arm's length at any given time. I can distinctly remember the pain of being rejected by peers as a child and by employers as an adult with just a casual foray into my memory.
This doesn't seem to exist for my daughter. And I wonder. Will she be happier than me? I certainly hope so.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Prufrock, or that damned snickering eternal Footman.
The entire poem is here: Prufrock
This is the poem that often runs through my head. It is the song that, while I recognize its flaws, I will probably always consider it my own special song.
T.S. Eliot. A genius. And I don't consider him a genius because of "The Wasteland," that work of his that gets so much attention. That poem is for smart people. When I have to refer to footnote after footnote to catch references in order to even begin to understand it, then I have a hard time putting any kind of emotional investment into it.
Ah, but Prufrock. I get this poem. It speaks to me, and affects me. The language is simple, the main character is...well, me, and conversely the me I'm glad I'm not.
I have seen a poster utilizing one of the lines from the poem as a caption, "Do I dare disturb the universe?" This line, in isolation, is inspirational. In the context of the poem, however, it is a sad statement concerning the doubts that assail each of us when we consider endeavors that will draw attention to ourselves. Sad, because for the main character of the poem, that answer is no. And while this is a great line, it is not the line that keeps me awake at night. Sometimes, yes, I do dare to disturb the universe. Maybe not as often as I could, but universe-disturbing should probably not be a constant labor.
The line that always gets me is "and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker/and in short, I was afraid." Oh, poor Prufrock. He knows there will be no posterity for him. He never asserted himself, he never pushed anything to a conclusion because he was afraid the answer would be no.
Fear is awful. Fear of failure is worse than failure. Failure teaches. Failure hurts, but it is also an opportunity for growth. Fear of failure is simply paralysis. Nothing changes, nothing gets better.
I regret most often the times I didn't try because of fear of failure. Currently, I'm experiencing a lot of failure, and it hurts. But I also believe that I'm growing. Even at this late date in my life, I'm growing. If nothing else, I'm growing more compassionate for others who have faced failure.
But what if I had tried harder earlier, what if I hadn't let the fear of failure stop me? Where would I be? I don't know, and that kind of speculation is really pointless. Regret is useful only to the extent that it drives us to not repeat the circumstances that brought about the regret. I must try now. That is all that matters.
I will disturb the universe at times. I will eat a peach. And yes, the mermaids will sing to me. I may fail, but those mermaids damn sure will be singing for me.
This is the poem that often runs through my head. It is the song that, while I recognize its flaws, I will probably always consider it my own special song.
T.S. Eliot. A genius. And I don't consider him a genius because of "The Wasteland," that work of his that gets so much attention. That poem is for smart people. When I have to refer to footnote after footnote to catch references in order to even begin to understand it, then I have a hard time putting any kind of emotional investment into it.
Ah, but Prufrock. I get this poem. It speaks to me, and affects me. The language is simple, the main character is...well, me, and conversely the me I'm glad I'm not.
I have seen a poster utilizing one of the lines from the poem as a caption, "Do I dare disturb the universe?" This line, in isolation, is inspirational. In the context of the poem, however, it is a sad statement concerning the doubts that assail each of us when we consider endeavors that will draw attention to ourselves. Sad, because for the main character of the poem, that answer is no. And while this is a great line, it is not the line that keeps me awake at night. Sometimes, yes, I do dare to disturb the universe. Maybe not as often as I could, but universe-disturbing should probably not be a constant labor.
The line that always gets me is "and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker/and in short, I was afraid." Oh, poor Prufrock. He knows there will be no posterity for him. He never asserted himself, he never pushed anything to a conclusion because he was afraid the answer would be no.
Fear is awful. Fear of failure is worse than failure. Failure teaches. Failure hurts, but it is also an opportunity for growth. Fear of failure is simply paralysis. Nothing changes, nothing gets better.
I regret most often the times I didn't try because of fear of failure. Currently, I'm experiencing a lot of failure, and it hurts. But I also believe that I'm growing. Even at this late date in my life, I'm growing. If nothing else, I'm growing more compassionate for others who have faced failure.
But what if I had tried harder earlier, what if I hadn't let the fear of failure stop me? Where would I be? I don't know, and that kind of speculation is really pointless. Regret is useful only to the extent that it drives us to not repeat the circumstances that brought about the regret. I must try now. That is all that matters.
I will disturb the universe at times. I will eat a peach. And yes, the mermaids will sing to me. I may fail, but those mermaids damn sure will be singing for me.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Things To Think About When Writing a Zombie Apocalypse Novel
So I've been writing a young adult zombie novel. This gives rise to some serious and not so serious considerations.
Serious consideration:
What do zombies represent in the American consciousness, the zeitgeist, the deeper meaning?
I've done a little reading considering zombies. I'm talking the George Romero-Night of the Living Dead zombies, not those wimps from the Caribbean and Central and South America in The Serpent and the Rainbow. Werewolves represent the onset of adolescence, vampires represent awakening sexuality, so what about zombies? To me, they represent the transition from adolescence into adulthood. We go from being lively, curious, and emotional to a dead, grasping, emotionless, decaying state. I addressed this matter to a PhD friend of mine, and she pointed out that zombies want to eat living brains in much the same way the current educational system wants to transform children into "productive members of society."
Not so serious consideration:
If zombies eat, do they also poop?
Okay, so I've been thinking way too much about how zombies could really function. So much so that I have to occasionally step back and remind myself that animated corpses are impossible. I've read quite a bit about possible causes of a zombie apocalypse, and I've formulated several ways I could justify their existence in a work of fiction. But the simple fact of the matter is that it just doesn't matter. Too many people overexplain causes. I've determined that the majority of people don't care about the how or the why, they just want the what next? That's not to say I don't address it in my novel. But it really isn't important. I guess I'm a story teller, more interested in thrusting people into difficult circumstances and seeing how they deal with it rather than dwelling on the scenery and vehicle for the action. See also this: Do zombies poop?
Serious consideration:
By the time I finish this novel, will zombies be passe?
There is a chance that could happen. Recently, we've gone into and out of the vampire craze, and are well into the zombie craze. I looked at direct-to-Kindle published books on zombies. There's only, like, 700 of them. Of those I sampled, some were awful, and some were quite good. There was everything from historical zombies to romantic zombie stories to adventure and horror. But I'm not writing just to be riding the wave. I think I have something to say. I think I'm writing a good book that happens to take place in a zombie apocalypse.
Not so serious consideration:
Why don't characters in zombie novels and movies know that they are facing zombies?
My wife asked me this question the other night. We've watched The Walking Dead, Zombieland, and she is currently reading David Moody's Autumn series. I like Robert Kirkman's (creator of the graphic novel upon which the television series The Walking Dead is based) response to this question: The novel/series takes place in an alternate world where George Romero never made Night of the Living Dead . From a writer's point of view, this almost has to be the case. Post apocalyptic novels have been written, certainly many inspired by the Cold War. But a scenario in which the dead rise and walk? We all think about how we would deal with it. Many of us know the "rules" and survival techniques. But what fun would it be to write that? Actually, it might be fun to write that, and have the biggest zombie survival experts fail miserably, while the bumblers survive and thrive. Oh, wait. That's been done in Shaun of the Dead.
Serious consideration:
How much can I change the "rules" and still appeal to zombie apocalypse fans?
Things we know about zombies:
They eat people (sometimes specifically brains).
They can only be stopped by destroying their brains.
In large groups they are unstoppable.
They move slow.
And of course, all these rules have been broken at one time or another by one author or another. So I think I can change the rules quite a bit and still have a zombie novel. My apocalypse, my rules. The only thing I have to have is dead people who refuse to go gentle into that good night.
Not so serious consideration:
Why I must never use the word "zombie" in my zombie apocalypse novel.
'Cause it's low rent. That word is not used in any zombie novel of substance I've come across. "Zombie" is a term applied by fans to all the creature-driven works of fiction inspired by Romero who was in turn inspired by Richard Matheson's I Am Legend, written in 1954, well before the more recent Will Smith debacle which butchered the key idea behind the novel, which was that we never really know who the monsters are, especially when they are us. Zombie is a cheap term for a complex representation of human hopes, fears, and nightmares. But everybody knows what you are talking about when you use it, so go on ahead.
Serious consideration:
What do zombies represent in the American consciousness, the zeitgeist, the deeper meaning?
I've done a little reading considering zombies. I'm talking the George Romero-Night of the Living Dead zombies, not those wimps from the Caribbean and Central and South America in The Serpent and the Rainbow. Werewolves represent the onset of adolescence, vampires represent awakening sexuality, so what about zombies? To me, they represent the transition from adolescence into adulthood. We go from being lively, curious, and emotional to a dead, grasping, emotionless, decaying state. I addressed this matter to a PhD friend of mine, and she pointed out that zombies want to eat living brains in much the same way the current educational system wants to transform children into "productive members of society."
Not so serious consideration:
If zombies eat, do they also poop?
Okay, so I've been thinking way too much about how zombies could really function. So much so that I have to occasionally step back and remind myself that animated corpses are impossible. I've read quite a bit about possible causes of a zombie apocalypse, and I've formulated several ways I could justify their existence in a work of fiction. But the simple fact of the matter is that it just doesn't matter. Too many people overexplain causes. I've determined that the majority of people don't care about the how or the why, they just want the what next? That's not to say I don't address it in my novel. But it really isn't important. I guess I'm a story teller, more interested in thrusting people into difficult circumstances and seeing how they deal with it rather than dwelling on the scenery and vehicle for the action. See also this: Do zombies poop?
Serious consideration:
By the time I finish this novel, will zombies be passe?
There is a chance that could happen. Recently, we've gone into and out of the vampire craze, and are well into the zombie craze. I looked at direct-to-Kindle published books on zombies. There's only, like, 700 of them. Of those I sampled, some were awful, and some were quite good. There was everything from historical zombies to romantic zombie stories to adventure and horror. But I'm not writing just to be riding the wave. I think I have something to say. I think I'm writing a good book that happens to take place in a zombie apocalypse.
Not so serious consideration:
Why don't characters in zombie novels and movies know that they are facing zombies?
My wife asked me this question the other night. We've watched The Walking Dead, Zombieland, and she is currently reading David Moody's Autumn series. I like Robert Kirkman's (creator of the graphic novel upon which the television series The Walking Dead is based) response to this question: The novel/series takes place in an alternate world where George Romero never made Night of the Living Dead . From a writer's point of view, this almost has to be the case. Post apocalyptic novels have been written, certainly many inspired by the Cold War. But a scenario in which the dead rise and walk? We all think about how we would deal with it. Many of us know the "rules" and survival techniques. But what fun would it be to write that? Actually, it might be fun to write that, and have the biggest zombie survival experts fail miserably, while the bumblers survive and thrive. Oh, wait. That's been done in Shaun of the Dead.
Serious consideration:
How much can I change the "rules" and still appeal to zombie apocalypse fans?
Things we know about zombies:
They eat people (sometimes specifically brains).
They can only be stopped by destroying their brains.
In large groups they are unstoppable.
They move slow.
And of course, all these rules have been broken at one time or another by one author or another. So I think I can change the rules quite a bit and still have a zombie novel. My apocalypse, my rules. The only thing I have to have is dead people who refuse to go gentle into that good night.
Not so serious consideration:
Why I must never use the word "zombie" in my zombie apocalypse novel.
'Cause it's low rent. That word is not used in any zombie novel of substance I've come across. "Zombie" is a term applied by fans to all the creature-driven works of fiction inspired by Romero who was in turn inspired by Richard Matheson's I Am Legend, written in 1954, well before the more recent Will Smith debacle which butchered the key idea behind the novel, which was that we never really know who the monsters are, especially when they are us. Zombie is a cheap term for a complex representation of human hopes, fears, and nightmares. But everybody knows what you are talking about when you use it, so go on ahead.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
The Artist at Work
I admire artists. I admire people who can draw, and sculpt, and carve. Those are what most people think of when they think of artists.
But those aren't the only artists. Those are the artists that probably get the most recognition for being artists. What I admire, though, are the everyday artists.
I admire people who can conceive of something that doesn't yet exist in this world, and then throw their whole being into creating it. I have been privileged to know a few artists like that in my lifetime.
I spent the earlier part of my week helping a friend put in a wood floor in a house he is renovating. I enjoyed learning how to do something I had known how to do before. My friend had done floors for a living prior to having his back broken in an accident, and while he couldn't work as hard or as long as he had in the past, he was very capable of showing me a few tricks.
And he was capable of creating art.
He conceived of designs and and imagined how they would look. He either had the necessary skills to make the designs happen, or improvised on the spot how to make the images in his mind come to life. I'm sure he was in a lot of pain while doing it. It would have been much easier to just lay the floor in simple straight lines. If he had done that, I could have completed it myself in a day and a half after he showed me the ropes.
Instead, he took the time to make the hundreds of extra, meticulous cuts. Some boards had to be cut five and six times in order to fit just right. Instead of me doing it by myself in two days, it took three people three days to finish. And it was beautiful.
He kept saying over and over how beautiful it would be when finished. I thought it would be nice, but I had no idea how beautiful it could be. Turns out, it was stunning. He took a great amount of joy in his creation. I was glad to be there to see the process, to see the joy in the act of creating a thing of beauty push him past the pain.
But those aren't the only artists. Those are the artists that probably get the most recognition for being artists. What I admire, though, are the everyday artists.
I admire people who can conceive of something that doesn't yet exist in this world, and then throw their whole being into creating it. I have been privileged to know a few artists like that in my lifetime.
I spent the earlier part of my week helping a friend put in a wood floor in a house he is renovating. I enjoyed learning how to do something I had known how to do before. My friend had done floors for a living prior to having his back broken in an accident, and while he couldn't work as hard or as long as he had in the past, he was very capable of showing me a few tricks.
And he was capable of creating art.
He conceived of designs and and imagined how they would look. He either had the necessary skills to make the designs happen, or improvised on the spot how to make the images in his mind come to life. I'm sure he was in a lot of pain while doing it. It would have been much easier to just lay the floor in simple straight lines. If he had done that, I could have completed it myself in a day and a half after he showed me the ropes.
Instead, he took the time to make the hundreds of extra, meticulous cuts. Some boards had to be cut five and six times in order to fit just right. Instead of me doing it by myself in two days, it took three people three days to finish. And it was beautiful.
He kept saying over and over how beautiful it would be when finished. I thought it would be nice, but I had no idea how beautiful it could be. Turns out, it was stunning. He took a great amount of joy in his creation. I was glad to be there to see the process, to see the joy in the act of creating a thing of beauty push him past the pain.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Evaluations, Decisions, and Consequences, or How I Spent My Vacation
I just returned from vacation. We elected to drive this year rather than fly. The consequences of this decision were both good and bad.
Good: We spent a lot of time together as a family. We set our own agenda. We counted a lot of Volkswagen Beetles.
Bad: We spent less time at destinations and more in between, and we didn't have an agenda, really. Freedom is a worrisome thing.
As a direct result of setting our own agenda, we made some questionable decisions. We drove from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina to Kittyhawk, North Carolina. We did this by the land route. There are other options.
Myrtle Beach was itself a questionable decision. Picture the worst aspects of any tourist trap, magnified by a thousand.
After leaving the mini-golf mecca of the South, we went to Kittyhawk, NC on the Outer Banks. This is an incredible area. The further off the beaten path, the better it gets. We went all the way north, up to Currituck. There, we saw the Currituck Lighthouse.
The next day we were to leave to go to my sister's in Richmond, VA, which was about a four hour drive. With that short of a travel time, we went back to Currituck the next morning and attempted to rent a jeep to go driving on the dunes, but they were booked up. So we decided to go south and see the Brodie Lighthouse. After Brodie, we decided what the heck, we'd continue south to see the Hatteras Lighthouse. After that, how could we not continue on to see the last of the NC Outer Banks lighthouses on Ocracoke Island, which is as far south as roads go. We were getting further and further from our final destination, but enjoying new experiences and seeing the best the Outer Banks had to offer.
To get to the Ocracoke Lighthouse, we had to take a 30 minute ferry ride. This was nice, and fun, but the day was getting away from us. We had to make the decision at this point to drive all the way back up, probably a time saver and better roads, or take a two and a half hour ferry ride to land in a Wildlife Refuge in the backwater of North Carolina. We took the ferry option.
On the ferry, my wife struck up a conversation with a 90 year old man who had been in the CCC and built some structures on the Outer Banks in the 30's. The structures were all gone, but he didn't seem to mind. He spoke over and over about decisions he had made in his life, and his lack of regrets despite the hard times.
On the drive that evening, I asked my wife to remind me at 9 p.m. how much I had enjoyed the day and driving down the Outer Banks. I had known my decision would put me driving later than I wanted. When I'm near the ocean, I love to wake up before dawn and walk the beach as the sun comes up. This is not conducive to good late night driving.
We arrived at my sister's house in Richmond at 11 p.m. I was exhausted. I had earlier made a decision to be uncomfortable, even miserable, in order to see and experience things I had never experienced before.
It was worth it.
I equate that decision with other decisions I have made in my life, especially more recently. I elected to move from a fairly secure job and take a chance on a new career as a teacher. I knew there were things about me, my personality and my outlook, my philosophies and beliefs, which might cause me problems in a public school environment. But I don't regret that decision. It was worth it, and it is still worth it, even in my current situation.
I equate what I am going through now with those last few hours of driving in the darkness. There is a destination for me, even if it is not clear right now. I am uncomfortable, I am nervous, I am worried. I am dealing with the consequences of my decisions. I am aware of mistakes I have made, but I don't really have regrets. I'll keep driving on until I get where I am going, and remembering the wonderful experiences that I have had.
Good: We spent a lot of time together as a family. We set our own agenda. We counted a lot of Volkswagen Beetles.
Bad: We spent less time at destinations and more in between, and we didn't have an agenda, really. Freedom is a worrisome thing.
As a direct result of setting our own agenda, we made some questionable decisions. We drove from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina to Kittyhawk, North Carolina. We did this by the land route. There are other options.
Myrtle Beach was itself a questionable decision. Picture the worst aspects of any tourist trap, magnified by a thousand.
After leaving the mini-golf mecca of the South, we went to Kittyhawk, NC on the Outer Banks. This is an incredible area. The further off the beaten path, the better it gets. We went all the way north, up to Currituck. There, we saw the Currituck Lighthouse.
The next day we were to leave to go to my sister's in Richmond, VA, which was about a four hour drive. With that short of a travel time, we went back to Currituck the next morning and attempted to rent a jeep to go driving on the dunes, but they were booked up. So we decided to go south and see the Brodie Lighthouse. After Brodie, we decided what the heck, we'd continue south to see the Hatteras Lighthouse. After that, how could we not continue on to see the last of the NC Outer Banks lighthouses on Ocracoke Island, which is as far south as roads go. We were getting further and further from our final destination, but enjoying new experiences and seeing the best the Outer Banks had to offer.
To get to the Ocracoke Lighthouse, we had to take a 30 minute ferry ride. This was nice, and fun, but the day was getting away from us. We had to make the decision at this point to drive all the way back up, probably a time saver and better roads, or take a two and a half hour ferry ride to land in a Wildlife Refuge in the backwater of North Carolina. We took the ferry option.
On the ferry, my wife struck up a conversation with a 90 year old man who had been in the CCC and built some structures on the Outer Banks in the 30's. The structures were all gone, but he didn't seem to mind. He spoke over and over about decisions he had made in his life, and his lack of regrets despite the hard times.
On the drive that evening, I asked my wife to remind me at 9 p.m. how much I had enjoyed the day and driving down the Outer Banks. I had known my decision would put me driving later than I wanted. When I'm near the ocean, I love to wake up before dawn and walk the beach as the sun comes up. This is not conducive to good late night driving.
We arrived at my sister's house in Richmond at 11 p.m. I was exhausted. I had earlier made a decision to be uncomfortable, even miserable, in order to see and experience things I had never experienced before.
It was worth it.
I equate that decision with other decisions I have made in my life, especially more recently. I elected to move from a fairly secure job and take a chance on a new career as a teacher. I knew there were things about me, my personality and my outlook, my philosophies and beliefs, which might cause me problems in a public school environment. But I don't regret that decision. It was worth it, and it is still worth it, even in my current situation.
I equate what I am going through now with those last few hours of driving in the darkness. There is a destination for me, even if it is not clear right now. I am uncomfortable, I am nervous, I am worried. I am dealing with the consequences of my decisions. I am aware of mistakes I have made, but I don't really have regrets. I'll keep driving on until I get where I am going, and remembering the wonderful experiences that I have had.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
I Must Try to Remember
Yesterday was a rough day. In the morning, I received notice that I hadn't gotten a job I was fairly sure I had a good chance of getting. Then, when I attempted to go to my back up plan for the upcoming school year, I found out I had managed to screw that chance up as well.
Everything external to myself seemed to be trying to indicate that I should give up my dream.
I was awash in self-pity. Worse than that, I hated myself for being awash in self-pity. I can't stand when people wrap themselves up in their own little universes of self-pity and fail to understand why they suddenly feel like the whole world is against them.
But at 44 years old, I have learned a thing or two about how to deal with adversity. I am a person who seems to be predisposed toward putting myself into situations where failure is always an option, and sometimes it seems this is the option I'm most likely to take.
The first and best thing I do is to give myself permission to be sad. It seems sometimes that we forget it is okay to be sad. There is a big difference between sadness and self-pity. Sadness is "things are not good, and that makes me feel bad." Self-pity is "things are not good, why do bad things always happen to me, I don't deserve this, I'm a good person most of the time, nothing good ever happens to me, everyone else is happy except me, etc., etc."
The key difference here is sadness is much more finite. I am sad, I have a reason to be sad. Now what?
And the correct answer to that, for me, has always been, "I have to get over this sometime, why not start now?" This is my mantra to replace the litany of self-pity. The next is, "What do I do now?"
This morning, I revisited plan B. I went to the place that told me I had no chance, and asked for one more. I was not told yes. But the hard no became a soft no, contingent on someone else's decision. It may not happen, but I prefer "may not" to "definitely not."
And then I began formulating plan C.
So at what point do I give up the dream? I've got the rest of the alphabet, and then I guess I can go to the Greek alphabet.
I may sound optimistic, but that's not really the case. My optimism has always been of the post-Modern variety. I don't believe in absolutes, and my particular brand of hope carries within it the possibility of failure. What I do believe in is the importance of individual perception (again, post-Modern in nature).
Many people who look at me and where I am now would see me as a failure. Sometimes that voice of self-pity comes through and I see myself that way as well. But this perception of failure is, like most things, temporary. There will be a change. And if I don't feel I'm a failure, the perceptions of others shade toward irrelevancy.
At some point in my life, I will regard myself as being successful again. There will be some event, some accomplishment, some recognition that I have succeeded. It is an unfortunate aspect of my personality that I will probably not expend a fraction of the emotional energy I have put into being sad at this moment into being happy in that moment, but I must try to remember.
Everything external to myself seemed to be trying to indicate that I should give up my dream.
I was awash in self-pity. Worse than that, I hated myself for being awash in self-pity. I can't stand when people wrap themselves up in their own little universes of self-pity and fail to understand why they suddenly feel like the whole world is against them.
But at 44 years old, I have learned a thing or two about how to deal with adversity. I am a person who seems to be predisposed toward putting myself into situations where failure is always an option, and sometimes it seems this is the option I'm most likely to take.
The first and best thing I do is to give myself permission to be sad. It seems sometimes that we forget it is okay to be sad. There is a big difference between sadness and self-pity. Sadness is "things are not good, and that makes me feel bad." Self-pity is "things are not good, why do bad things always happen to me, I don't deserve this, I'm a good person most of the time, nothing good ever happens to me, everyone else is happy except me, etc., etc."
The key difference here is sadness is much more finite. I am sad, I have a reason to be sad. Now what?
And the correct answer to that, for me, has always been, "I have to get over this sometime, why not start now?" This is my mantra to replace the litany of self-pity. The next is, "What do I do now?"
This morning, I revisited plan B. I went to the place that told me I had no chance, and asked for one more. I was not told yes. But the hard no became a soft no, contingent on someone else's decision. It may not happen, but I prefer "may not" to "definitely not."
And then I began formulating plan C.
So at what point do I give up the dream? I've got the rest of the alphabet, and then I guess I can go to the Greek alphabet.
I may sound optimistic, but that's not really the case. My optimism has always been of the post-Modern variety. I don't believe in absolutes, and my particular brand of hope carries within it the possibility of failure. What I do believe in is the importance of individual perception (again, post-Modern in nature).
Many people who look at me and where I am now would see me as a failure. Sometimes that voice of self-pity comes through and I see myself that way as well. But this perception of failure is, like most things, temporary. There will be a change. And if I don't feel I'm a failure, the perceptions of others shade toward irrelevancy.
At some point in my life, I will regard myself as being successful again. There will be some event, some accomplishment, some recognition that I have succeeded. It is an unfortunate aspect of my personality that I will probably not expend a fraction of the emotional energy I have put into being sad at this moment into being happy in that moment, but I must try to remember.
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