High School September 29, 2008

How did I get here?

There are days at work when I can’t stop asking myself that question. How did I get here? And then I think “I didn’t know where I was when I started and I didn’t have a specific place I wanted to go.”

It’s an incredibly lame answer when one considers that I simply hate my job. I hate the high school-ness of it. The being here between a certain number of hours and being at your desk looking busy. Sure I get to talk to my friends and we talk about the work we have to get done and people we don’t like. And I can decorate my locker (cubicle) anyway I want. It’s sooo high school.

Now that I’ve said all this, what does it mean for me? What step should I take? I’m playing a waiting game until after the test Thursday. What will I hear when I wake up? If I’m going to die, I know exactly what I’ll do. If I’m going to live…What next?

I felt the same way when I came back from my surfing vacation in Mexico. What happened next? Nothing. I wrote a post and went back to the life I’d taken a vacation from. I try to be thankful for this job (after all it payed for the vacation), and sometimes I can make myself believe it. But I’ve been there for over 5 years, and I’ve wanted out of for about four. What does that say about me?

I don’t leave it because I’ve got it in my head that: nothing else would be any better; there’s bullshit wherever you go; I’d never find another job making as much money with my kind of vague, though solid, skills; there are much worse bosses out there; the people I like here are good friends, etc, etc and a cashmere sweater.  I don’t even try anymore. I’m just thankful for the insurance and the sick leave.  Is that not sad? Yes it is sad. I’m worth more right?

Now that I think about it, in the 5 years I’ve had this job I’ve had 4 medical procedures requiring going to, if not staying in, the hospital. Before that, as an adult? 0. My god, I think my job is literally making me sick! Maybe it’s just an age thing? Maybe I’m just going through a rough patch. But if I subscribe to the notion that everything happens for a reason, I have to admit, it’s a little strange.

change space September 29, 2008

How many books talk about change being hard, the most difficult thing to do. People have habits, ruts, patterns they can’t seem to escape, half of which we don’t even realize we have. Yogis and Buddhists tell us about samskaras, those actions we do over and over again. Scientists who study the brain tell us about neurological patterns that develop and link our thoughts to actions, creating actual grooves in the brain that get deeper and deeper the longer we stay in these patterns. This makes real change almost impossible, right?

What if change isn’t hard?

People talk about changing all the time, for years, for decades. But the actual change I think happens in a second, almost instantaneously. Suddenly, I think one thing and respond in a certain way, and then the next second I respond in some other way. It’s not a process; it’s the opposite of process. It’s not a series of steps or actions. It’s just one step, one action, from doing something to not doing it.

My yoga teacher talks about the madhya (not sure how it’s spelled) in pranayama, that point in breathing when you change from inhaling to exhaling. I think Deepak Chopra calls it a “gap”.  It’s a still point, a space.  This change space that’s neither inhaling nor exhaling, but one changing into the other. I’ve said before, I feel like I’ve changed so much in the last couple of years (and I have), but the externals look the same.  Am I in the change space? How long can I stay in the change space before I lose my breath? How long can I wait to exhale?

the plan September 27, 2008

Here’s the situation. I saw blood in my stool and I have to have a colonoscopy. My doctor was all, “We have to take a look, colon cancer is SOOOO common, it’s the #1 cause of cancer death! We’re #1! We’re #1!” He didn’t say that last part, but it felt like he could have.  Apparently, if you catch colon cancer early, you’re fine, but after a certain point there’s absolutely nothing they can do for you and you die in, like, six months. Do not Google it.

When faced with a health concern I always go to the darkest place. What if it’s cancer? What if I wake from the drugs Thursday, he says “It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do. You’ve got about 6 months to live”? I was thinking about it so much that I came up with a plan. I know exactly what I would do.

I’d cut back my hours at work, but not so much that I would lose my insurance. The idea of sitting in a cubicle watching the minutes of the rest of my life literally ticking away would no longer be acceptable. I’ve got a little saved, I could still make the rent. I’d go to yoga at least once a day, sometimes during the day when I’d ordinarily be at work. I’d sell everything and when my lease is up in January, move back to Florida with my mom and sister. I’d spend the last few months of my life surfing, working part-time somewhere, volunteer teaching yoga, meditating, writing. I’d help my mom around the house, start a garden for her. Just taking and giving joy in everything I did. And then I’d die. That’s The Dieing Plan.

As I got dressed for yoga this morning I was thinking about The Plan and it made me smile, it made me happy to think of living my life like that, of my dieing plan. And then driving to the yoga studio it hit me, I don’t have a Living Plan.

I seem to be perfectly willing to let the minutes of my life tick away in front of computer and not do the things I clearly want to do. I don’t do any of the things in my dying plan. Yes I go to yoga, and I was even going almost everyday during teacher training, but not since. Work saps my energy. I don’t garden. I haven’t started volunteering, yet. There are no waves to catch in Austin, and if you look at the dates on this blog you know I’m not writing. I’m certainly not taking and giving joy in everything I do.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve known for a while now that I have no plans for my life, no career goals, no relationship goals, there’s no overarching theme. I just sort of go from one thing to the next and if I stay in one place a while it’s usually not because I love it but because I’m stuck. I started to think, “do I want to die, so I can have that life?”  When (kinda) faced with death, I happily made a plan for myself that brought a smile to my face, almost a wish that I could live it even though it would require a death sentence. What does that say about how I really want to live my life, and the way I’m living it now?

The doctor said that 8 times out of 10 there’s nothing seriously wrong. Wait. That means 1 in 5 is serious. Those odds aren’t good, that’s a lot! Anyway…

When I wake up Thursday, if the doctor says “You’re fine! False alarm. See you in 10 years. Bye now!”, what the fuck is my Living Plan?