Life in the Middle Lane

A month or so ago, I reconnected with one of my first blog homies, Holly Hoffman, who has been doing BIG THANGS for herself lately.

We tweeting briefly and she asked me what’s been going on in my life lately. And I replied like a smart aleck,“I’m full of angst as usual. Trudging upstream. Surrounded by mediocrity”

I thought Holly would laugh it off, or commiserate before moving on to the next topic.  She didn’t.  Instead she asked me what I’m going to do to change it.

After I gasped in shock and horror, I scrambled for a reply. I wanted to reply in a way that didn’t make me look like the lame asses around me that I deplore but I wanted to be truthful and not say something that could come back later and bite me in the ass. So I replied with an only-slightly BS line about “working on some things and making some connections” when in reality I spend most of my time lamenting the fact that I’m not writing much, and watching TV on Fancast and Netflix.

But having been posed that question by Holly, I started to really think about the things that I dislike about my life and all the stuff I’m not doing to change it.  And I realized something. I’m incredibly lazy and beset by inertia.

Inertia, according to Wikipedia, is the resistance of an object to change its state of motion.

“The vis insita, or innate force of matter is a power of resisting, by which every body, as much as in it lies, endeavors to preserve in its present state, whether it be of rest, or of moving uniformly forward in a straight line.”

Before I get all over my head in science world, basically this means that as much as I think I’d like to change certain aspects of my life (or even myself) at least a part of me is comfortable here.

A less science-y example:  This past weekend in Atlanta was gorgeous. 74 degrees, sunny. It was an amazing glimpse of Spring and I loved every second of it. But over the past few months, I’ve gotten used to wearing a coat, gloves, scarf and hat and walking around outside in just my regular clothes and a small sweater made me feel exposed and incomplete.  And I HATE bulky winter outerwear.

But it just goes to show you how easily behaviors and mindsets can become ingrained and how things, even the things that we hate, can become the norm.

There are lots of things I want to do, but every time I make a little progress, something (usually my own negativity) pulls me back into inertia.

I don’t have a solution to my inertia problem; if I did I’d be 50 pounds lighter, have written a book or two and would be chilling in Costa Rica. I know you are probably thinking (like I often do) Why don’t you just get off your ass and DO something.

I only wish it were that easy. Inertia is a powerful thing. You see, not only does the power of inertia state that an object will remain in its current state of motion, it also states that only a greater force can cause the object to change.

Last summer I was hit by a greater force. I graduated from MPA school with no prospects for employment. I was given the chance to change my life and break away from the power of inertia. I was living with the GF in a stable environment that could have been a breeding ground for creativity, self-discovery and entrepreneurship. Mostly it wasn’t. I wasted my tine trying to get back to where I was most comfortable. Working for someone else.  I dabbled in starting my own business, but I don’t think I took it as seriously as I should have. I didn’t push as hard as I should have.  Now I find myself, basically in the same place that I was in before I went to graduate school, except now it’s worse.

When I look at some of my peers, I see them as these brilliant rockets blasting off into the outer spaces of life and success and I wonder what drives them so.  This reminds me of a quote I heard during one of my Philosophers’ Notes that says that

“the majority of fuel used by a rocket is  used during take-off when the rocket is trying to breech the Earth’s gravitational pull.”

Hmmm.

Physics (Gravity and Inertia) shows us that the hardest part is getting started. Maybe, if I can just start moving and build some momentum, I can shift my inertia from one of standing still to one of constant movement. Maybe it only takes a push to propel myself (figuratively) into the air. Maybe then getting to and staying at cruising altitude will be relatively easy.

When I started my coming out process, I was going through huge life transitions and I was hoping to use some of those transitions to re-invent myself. Finding a woman with whom I wanted to start a relationship with complicated and kick-started my reinvention process. Over the course of 6 months, I quit a job I loved to take a part-time gig, I started graduate school, moved out of my mother’s house (again) and moved into my first apartment with no roommates, started graduate school and fell in love with a woman.

Telling, or deciding who and when to tell has been one of the most anxiety-ridden thing I’ve had to do in regards to my lesbian identity. I had to make decisions about my mom, my siblings, other family members, my friends, acquaintances, church members, co-workers, everyone.  Even the strangers we meet in the streets automatically make judgments or assumptions about our (homo and hetero) relationships, gender and sexuality. I had to decide how I wanted to deal with it all.

In graduate school, I was neither in nor out. I was the queen of DADT.

Of course, there was that one favorite classmate of mine who figured it out almost immediately. I would neither confirm or deny, but for him, the cat was out of the bag.  We shared a wink and a smile, and both went back to whatever conversation we were originally having. I will always love him for that. And it felt good to know that if wasn’t that big of a deal.

In talking about the GF, I simply said my significant other, my partner or the asexual “them”.  However, it didn’t take my closest classmates very long to realize that the only reason a person would use those particular words was if they had something to hide. And I am reminded of a particular raucous, tequila filled night where I slipped up and said her. I hoped that no one noticed.

On Diversity Day we watched a series of skits designed to inform us of all the ways we could look like racist, prejudiced a-holes, even when we don’t mean to be. While I was visibly awkward and disturbed by the display of We Love Everyone –even the Blacks, the Jews, the Homos and Women– propaganda, I was NOT going to use that moment to tell my professors and classmates of my super minority status.

It wasn’t until our second year when a group of us were thinking of renting a house together that I thought, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should come clean.  And with the eight of us standing in a Kroger parking lot discussing the pros and cons of a communal living arrangement, I in full dramatic fashion, proclaimed myself a lesbian. My friends just looked at me with silly grins, as if they A. Needed a warning and B. Didn’t already know.

Even if they didn’t care, I felt good about it.  And I felt good about waiting to share. In entering graduate school, I made a conscious decision not to be the token lesbian. I wanted to be liked and judged on the merits of my character, wittiness, drinking ability, and intellectual prowess, not on the sex of the person with whom that I share my life.

And waiting helped me accomplish that.

My life is riddled with occasions that I did the “right” thing even though it may not have been what I really wanted to do.  These are occasions where I may not have really known what I wanted to do so I did what was suggested. Or times when I didn’t want to disappoint someone who was counting on me.  Or times when I did what I thought would give me the most flexible or practical outcome, even if something else would have been so much more fun or interesting.

If something goes wrong and outcomes are bad, I generally have someone else to blame for these decisions. And I often regret that I forfeited my own decision making power to someone else. At the very least, I kick myself in the ass for not being true to what I want.

Sometimes I just make impulsive, some would say rash, decisions. Those passionate, emotional, little-thought-required decisions are generally the ones that I am the happiest with. In those cases, even when/if I fall on my face, I get up and stand behind whatever decision I made. After all, I either got what I wanted or learned a huge lesson, right?

Some decisions, like my decision to go to Salem College, are a combination of both. My then-boyfriend was already in college in Winston Salem, so it made sense to me (in my 16 year old brain) that I should be looking at colleges in the same town so that we could be together forever. I scoped out the Winston Salem colleges and found two that looked good(Wake Forest University and Salem College).  I applied, was accepted and visited them both.

I visited WFU first and at best, I felt indifferent and at worst, I felt like my soul died a little on that campus.  But when I visited Salem, I felt immediately at home. The other colleges where I was accepted (and there were some good ones) didn’t stand a chance because I made an irrational, emotional decision. Salem was where I belonged, price, location, etc be damned! That decision changed the course of my life (for better and worse). But regardless of my mixed feelings about Salem, I never regretted my decision to attend that school. I went because there was an irrepressible calling here. It was like I was being tugged by something I couldn’t see.

I’m on the verge of making another illogical, emotional; some would probably say stupid, decision to try to be involved with something that I am extremely passionate about. (my true friends could probably guess it in 3 tries, it only took my mother 1) This decision (and what is likely to come out of it) won’t make me rich, likely won’t advance my career, is likely going to cost me money, and is going to make me do something that a few months ago I said I wouldn’t do.

But I’m going to do it anyway because if I woke up tomorrow and found that my uncle would give me money to quit my job, this one thing that I’m about to do- would be something on which I would dedicate large amounts of time and energy.

And damn it, it’s my life and I wanna do it.

But you know what, the longer I think about it (big mistake) the easier it becomes to try to talk myself out of it. Trust me, this decision isn’t practical, it’s a bit of a long shot, and I am nowhere close to having all the details all figured out.  But I’m like a cat, I *tend* to land on my feet. And details aren’t really my thing, they fall into place on their own.

And in this particular case, a wise person told me that they knew it was only a matter of time before I came around to this decision. She told me that my whole life has been in preparation for this moment.

And another wise person said that this particular thing is something that I’ve been talking about repeatedly for the whole time they’ve known me. This person damn near laid out a plan of attack based solely on all the random sh*t I’ve said over the years.

And I have another friend who told me that when I truly KNOW myself and allow me to be me, my purpose would reveal itself. (And I SWEAR she was talking about this.)

So anyway, I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, “What the hell do I want?” And my whole heart says, “This.”

And God help me, I’m going to listen.

I generally have a pretty f-ed up view of the world. I expect the worst to happen.  I expect people to behave badly.  I have a horrible time trusting people.  I’m a cynic and a pessimist. I’m naturally sensitive, but I try VERY hard to keep my emotions under wrap, in a box with a key in a vault.  In a cave, under the ocean. (Being called a crybaby as a child will do that to you)

So when I read beautiful things written by beautiful people it makes me really happy and my faith in the world is restored (at least briefly).  And Marie had made me pretty happy today. In her post, Take Care, she asserts that we are in the lives of our friends, lovers, families because God trusts us to take care of them.

Read it again to make sure you got it. God trusts us to take care of them.

WOW. I got chill bumps while reading that statement!!! It is such an amazing and empowering thought. I am responsible for taking care of the people with whom I’ve been blessed to interact.

Sometimes I think about packing up my life and running away and living in a cave in the Midwest.  I’ve wondered if anyone would notice or care if I was no longer around. Most times I think I make a so-so friend. So to think that God (in her/his all-knowing wisdom) trusts me?!?!?!

I have friends and family with whom I have a cosmic (in my mind, at least) connection with.  People with whom I immediately feel comfortable.  People with whom I can be my total ridiculous self.  People who know me better than I know myself.  People who (on the days that I believe in reincarnation) I believe I’ve been living and dying with throughout the millennia. People I would die to save.

People who I am very guilty of occasionally treating badly.  People who I haven’t called, texted or even tweeting in forever. I ignore phone calls. I hold grudges.  I hurt feelings.  I rush to get off the phone or off the IM. I have horrible trust issues. I have hang-ups that keep me distant and invulnerable.

Sometimes I consciously tell myself that I shouldn’t care about anyone.  Caring makes one vulnerable and out of control. And I don’t want to be vulnerable and out of control.

When I think about how I treat people, I feel like an asshole.  Because Marie is right. How dare I not care? How dare I not trust myself to be the kind of lover, friend, family member that my loved ones deserve? I mean, if God can trust me (and my friends and family trust me) to do it properly, what’s my f-ing problem?

I’ve been admonished.

Thanks, Marie for reminding me that love, friendship and family are beautiful gifts that shouldn’t be taken lightly.  I promise to do better.  And I printed out her post and am taping it on my Vision Board.  I want to be the kind of person that God, apparently, thinks I am.

Worthy of the people in my life.

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself an athlete, but I dabble in sports when I can.  A few years ago I decided to be a runner. I found a group to train with, and started running. We trained from February to June, starting with 30 second run/ 1minute walk, increasing to 1 min run/walk, 2 min run/ 1 minute walk, etc. At first it was relativity easy, and unexpectedly I even found myself running in the front of the pack. As I looked ahead at the training schedule, I tried to predict when I would give up. I figured that somewhere around the 7 minute long run I would die of a heart attack. Again, unexpectedly, I completed the 5 minute run- no problem, 6 minute run- no problem, 7 minute run –no problem, 8 minute- no problem. You get the point. I completed the WHOLE program. I ran a 5k. No sweat.

I mean, I sweated a lot, but I didn’t die like I thought I would.

When I was in college I found a cheap gym that taught ju jit su and muy tai kickboxing. I’ve always been fascinated by martial arts, so I decided to give them a shot. It was love from the beginning.  At the beginning of each lesson, we ran through a series of drills to practice basic moves. Then we would move into learning something new. The majority of each lesson was spent “sparring”.  The whole class would pair up and go at it. (I’ve fought hundred pound ladies, three hundred pound men, and ultimate fighting contestants). I learned quickly that the longer I trained the better I’d be. I’m sure you are thinking, duh, of course training improves skills, but what I mean is, training and improving in martial arts skills has a lot to do with muscle memory.  If I thought about what move to do next, I often would find myself pinned.  But if I let my body take over and do what it remembered from the lessons, I was much more likely to win a match.

I trained in ju jit su and kickboxing for a year, then I moved away and I couldn’t find another cheap gym to train in. I looked into other gyms and even went to a couple of “free” classes. A year or two later, my body still remembered how to protect itself.

And I don’t even have to remind you of my swimming adventure! At first, I thought I would die every time I got into the water.  Over the course of just a few months, I learned to swim on my back and my stomach. Now, in Atlanta, with no money and no pool, I miss the water.  I can’t wait till I get settled in, join a Y and get back to swimming.

Oh, and by the way, when I set a goal for my body, I ALWAYS lose weight. But I don’t even care because when I get into an activity it quickly stops being about losing weight and starts being about having fun and learning a new talent.

This has been a tremendously stressful year with writing the capstone, graduating from school, and looking for my next step.  Every time I’ve gotten bogged down or discouraged about finishing my thesis or this stupid job search the GF sends me a text message reminding me that I ran a 5k (I was training when we met), that I learned to swim (swimming is a goal of her’s too)… and reminds me I should tap into that that same tenacity and control and endurance and persistence to overcome whatever other obstacles (not having a job or having an insane thesis committee or starting a business).

It’s hard, but I’m starting to get the picture. She’s right. If I can control my body enough to do the athletic stuff I’ve done with it, and have the persistence and endurance to keep training even when it hurts or is inconvenient and meet my physical goals (with sweat, no blood or tears) then I should at least display the same persistence and endurance, and most of all, patience when “running after” my professional and personal goals.

Alternate Title: What happened on my California interviews.

A few weeks ago, I received an offer for an interview in Hayward, California for a Deputy City Clerk position. In a good economy, I wouldn’t have even considered the position. (I’ve worked in a City Clerk’s office before, and I know that being a Clerk is not what I want to be when I grow up).  However, this is not a good economy, and times are hard, and I was just excited to get an interview.  During the same timeframe, I applied for a couple of other jobs that I was REALLY excited about (San Jose Downtown Association and the Silicon Valley Leadership Alliance). Since I had to spend almost $400 dollars on a plane ticket (regardless of whether I spent 2 days or 10 days), I decided that I should maximize my time and request interviews with the other organizations, and meet as many people as possible.

The City of Hayward uses a two interview process.  I had an initial panel interview with Clerks from other Bay Area jurisdictions.  The purpose of the interview was to see if I had the basic skills and temperament to be a Deputy Clerk, i.e. they ranked applicants in terms of general “clerk” ability.  I came in third, which granted me a second interview. The second interview was with the City Clerk and the City Attorney.  It was….meh. They didn’t ask me anything I wasn’t expecting, and I answered their questions quickly and thoroughly. The City Clerk was young, and it was great to see someone her age (early 30’s) at the top of her field.

The interesting thing about the Hayward interviews?  The questions were so generic. The panel interview was harder because a) there were three people to make eye contact with and b) their questions were harder and more scenarios based. The second interview felt like a recap of the first interview, and some of the questions were legal questions. (Hello! I decided NOT to go to law school remember) And the City Attorney asked me what I hoped to do with a Philosophy degree. I had to keep my composure, and say very sweetly,

I can do anything I want to with a Philosophy Degree. Studying Philosophy teaches one to think logically and solve problems.

To which he grunted.

In short, I’m not crazy about the position, but it would be a promotion from my last job before graduate school and it would get me to the West Coast (which is the goal). *shrugging*

I am way more excited about the other two jobs that I interviewed for.  The Silicon Valley Leadership Alliance is an amazing organization, and I was very excited that they were willing to interview me on short notice.  In the advertised position, I would be analyzing policy and managing the Directors of Environmental Policy and Energy Policy.  The Directors (who interviewed me) were so awesome. I had a great chemistry with them; the interview was very easy and relaxed. They didn’t ask the generic questions [they had great questions]. We had things in common, I loved them.  The job was SO ME.

Two problems: They told me,

While we think you’re great and capable and intelligent, and would be great in this job, there are 15 other people in the stack that are just like you.

Ouch. And they have a 3 part interview process, which means I would need to fly out to California twice more. Their timeframe for hiring someone is August, so I send them nice emails every once in a while so they don’t forget me….[If you are reading, guys, please hire me]

Interview Three was with the San Jose Downtown Partnership. It wasn’t a “real” interview; we met at the local Starbucks. I asked that hiring manager to meet with me while I was in town.  We agreed that a real interview could happen later on the phone. I just wanted her to have my face (and my body language) to go with my resume.   While I know that I am capable of being a great Event Coordinator (the position that I’m interviewing for), this is a case of right organization, wrong position. Working for a Downtown Development Agency is one of my dream jobs, but I always saw myself in a policy, analytical, or government or client relations role. I think the Event Coordinator gig would be a lot of fun and I think I would learn a lot.  But the hiring manager thinks I’m over qualified and won’t last long.  I tried to reassure her, but I don’t know if I convinced her.

If I had to rank these jobs in order of my preference, I’d choose 1) Silicon Valley Leadership Alliance, 2) San Jose Downtown Association 3) City of Hayward.

I believe that the best way to get a job is to be you in an interview. If interviewers don’t like the me that they see in the interview, then they aren’t going to like me in the position.  Even when I’m not offered the position, often interviewers still tell me that they get “good feelings” about me or that I have a good aura or that I’m likeable)   I feel as confident as I can about these interviews, knowing that I showed them my best self.

I’M BORED. And not just because I’m poor and jobless and I spend my days in the public library sneaking in food and beverages. (I often have the librarians chastise me for eating in the stacks).

I’m bored because I’m tired of living my life the way I’m currently living it.  Apply for Job. Wait for a response. Check my twitter and Google Reader. Repeat.

By the way, this is the last whiny post about how tired I am of being jobless and poor.  I’ll probably still write about the job search, but I promise not be so f-ing whiny. I’M tired of listening to me whine. I’ve got to gain perspective in my life. I need to redefine my goals. I need to seriously think about my life’s direction. I have to get myself together.

I always get excited when I stumble upon a really great person who seems to have taken live by the balls and SQUEEZED. I want to squeeze life by the balls.  I want to use my superpower, dammit.

I wanna DO something.

And then I think about all the things I could and, dammit, SHOULD be doing to fully start working for myself and then I come up with 5 billion reasons why I can’t do all the things I should be doing. And it’s stupid because I’ve done stuff that is way harder…. WTF is my problem?

Hence the “getting myself together” that I spoke of a few sentences ago.

Question 1. Why is it is so hard to move from “starting” to “doing”?

Maybe it’s time for an online to-do list, with you guys (yes, that means you) to keep me accountable, huh?

***

Everyone morning I look at my very beautiful Vision Board and I sigh. It makes me sad to even look at it.

Why? Because I remember the idealistic Monica that carefully and lovingly put the Vision Board together this Spring. (it’s so gosh darn PRETTY!!) And I remember the hot and sweaty Monica, who, this summer, after packing her car to move to Atlanta, scrambled to find a place for said vision board. (I didn’t want to wrinkle or, God forbid, tear any of it)

Now the vision board, my clothes, computer, and 20 books that I couldn’t live without are setting in Atlanta.  I’ve found a prominent place to display it where I can see it often through the day. But all I feel when I look at it is sadness. Not happiness, not joy, not hope, not even pride that I put together something so lovely. I feel sad. And Duped.

I was in a very hopeful state of mind when I put together my vision board. I thought about everything I wanted. (Yes, the words FABULOUS and FAMOUS can be found on my board.  Along with HEALTHY and SAFE and SUCCESSFUL, and my core values) I imagined my dream life ( not so farfetched that it’s unattainable) and I tacked it on my board. I put everything on it. The cities I want to live (no, Atlanta is not on it), the jobs I’ve really want it (and subsequently been rejected for), my business (that I’ve procrastinated starting) and my desire to rule to free world (what? I’ve been planning that one for YEARS)

Every day I look at my vision board with a heavy heart and I want to kick it and hit it and break it into a million little corkboard pieces. The GF says that I should calm down. I’ve only been here for a week, she says. It’s not my fault that all the jobs I’ve interviewed for don’t want to hire anyone until August, she says. Something good will happen, she says. Have a drink, she says.

We disagree on the point of the vison board. She says that the purpose of the vision board is to keep me focused on my goals.  I thought the vision board was to help me manifest my future. Which it ain’t doing.

Question 2. Who is right? Me or the GF?

Question 3. Why is it that everyone else can be optimistic about my future except me?

I had a conversation with my mother today.  She asked me how I was doing.  My new stock answer: Still poor and jobless.

I swear if she’d been in the room with me, she would have smacked me in the head and told me to snap out of it.

Instead, in her best “everything will be ok” voice, she proceeds to tell me that everything will work out. She reiterated the GF, that I’ve only been here for a week, that I’m smart and capable, that God wouldn’t put anything on me that I couldn’t handle.

Then she goes into her “you listen here, missy” voice and tells me that I am not to start doubting, I have to believe in myself. I can’t even use adverbs: maybe, probably, and hopefully can no longer be a part of my vocabulary. Over and over, using different words, she says

Something good is going to happen. I just know it.

I’m trying to believe mama, I’m trying.

I believe that humans are innately evil creatures. I believe that we do those things that are in our best interests.  When our behaviors are not aligned with our best interests, it is generally because social and cultural norms keep us all in line.  Social and cultural norms cause us to be polite to each other, tell the truth, share, and prevent us from robbing and killing each other at will. Everyone doesn’t conform to these norms.  Some people, for some reason, do not conform to those social and cultural norms because something STRONGER commands their actions.  The influence of other more strong-willed people, desperation and mental instability are three things that I’ve seen cause humans to behave in ways that would seem wrong or strange to most of us in our civilized society.

I was recently in the presence of someone who treated me very badly and falls, in my opinion, in the later catergory. In other words, she’s absolutely crazy.

A couple of weeks ago I traveled out to the Bay Area. Since I’m jobless and my bank account is limited, I arranged to spend the week with a friend of a friend.  I was excited that I wouldn’t have to worry about hotel expenses during the seven day trip.  My time with, let’s call her Gabbie, started out awesomely.  Gabbie welcomed me into her home, she allowed me to stay in her bedroom, and she even cleared a space for me on the vanity in the bathroom.   Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday passed without a hitch.  Gabbie took it upon herself to show me around; she introduced me to a great bar and a great restaurant.  She went beyond normal politeness. I thought we were on the way to being friends.

Weekends in a new city are hard, and it was on Sunday that Gabbie’s cracks began to surface.  She asked me to leave the apartment for a while because she was expecting her girlfriend to visit; I was attending an event in San Francisco so I wasn’t concerned.  However, a snag in my plans made me text Gabbie to see if I could come back earlier than we arranged.  Her textual response? Maybe I should look for different arrangements because I was making her feel rushed.  I thought she was completely overreacting and  I was confused and concerned.   I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and I didn’t have the money for a hotel stay for the remainder of my trip. Luckily, I was able to talk to Gabbie and convince her to continue to let me stay.

After that episode I was worried that she would snap. I tried to be quiet and stay out of her way, I knew I only have three days left, I thought I would make it.  I thought I was doing a good job, until Tuesday morning when I awoke to find a note on thebathroom door telling me to get out of the apartment.  The note included a series of threats and false accusations. Gabbie accused me of scamming my way into her house, staying too long, and keeping her away from her “responsibilities”. Really, Gabbie?  There was no promise of reward or compensation in exchange for my lodging. I told her verbally and in writing how long I planned to stay (and she agreed verbally and in writing) and I even shared my flight itinerary.  I also left the apartment every morning and I only returned in the afternoon when Gabbie called me to tell me she was home. (Bad Monica, you scammer, you!)

I was so embarrassed and hurt by the note. And really confused because she rambled on for a while spewing hatred and negativity. I don’t know what I did to cause her to say such hateful and unnecessary things to me.  It would have been enough to just tell me to get out. Or to communicate with me about what her problem really was.

I didn’t have time to panic or cry or feel sorry for myself.  I had to pack all my stuff, find the cheapest hotel possible, and decide the day’s logistics because I had a lunch informational interview planned for later that day AND I had a series of interviews planned for the following day.  It was incredibly weird to have lunch with someone while carrying ALL my worldly possessions with me? And I knew I had to quickly get myself together if I was to be successful in my Wednesday interviews.

I didn’t have time to evaluate or express my feelings at the time.  I’ve spend the past few day s thinking, Why would she treat me like that? I am still so hurt and confused and PISSED OFF by Gabbie’s behavior.

Which brings me back to the beginning.  How Gabbie treated me was completely outside of cultural and societal norms. It was horrible. And she knew it was a horrible thing to do because she didn’t have the guts to face me like a woman.  She left me a note on the bathroom door, and told me specifically not to contact her anymore.  Sounds like a guilty conscience to me…. (or a person with a split personality)  Was allowing me in her house in the first place where Gabbie went wrong or was it when she kicked me out?  Did she invite me to stay with her out of politeness?   And kick me out because it was no longer in her best interest to adhere to the cultural norm? Did her girlfriend tell her to kick me out?

Whenever I try to figure out why people act the way they do, especially in these situations, I ask myself, Is it a matter of personal weakness, desperation or craziness?  In the case of Gabbie, you be the judge.  But I don’t think that it was a coincidence that one of the last things my sister says to me before I got on the plane was:  I hope she’s not a psycho.

Everyone must know something about me that I am currently unaware of.  For the past year I’ve had co-workers, professors, counselors, friends, mentors, Jenny, new people that I’ve met and the GF all tell me the same thing. 

Monica, you’re awesome and successful. 

Every time someone tells me that I’m going to be fine and I should stop worrying about not finding a job, part of me doesn’t believe them (even thought I really want to believe them). I’ve worked crazy hard over the past year. I’ve been networking my ass, applying for lots and lots of jobs, going on informational interviews, going to professional conferences, tweaking my resume, building a new website all working towards getting a fucking job. 

Unfortunately, I’m one among 100’s (I know, I harass HR managers) of new graduates, and older experienced displaced workers going after the same very limited job pool.  So my goal has changed, and I’m piecing together a couple of entrepreneurial ventures with my friends and classmates.  And I’m really excited about them.  But I’m rather scared shitless. 

When I tell folks about the consulting and the promotions and the party planning, they tend to get really excited. And the more excited they get the more scared I get. 

What if I fuck it up?  What if I’m not as awesome as everyone thinks I am? 

Tonight I finally asked the GF why she keeps telling me that I’m going to be fine.  She said the proof is in the pudding. Over and over, she said, she’s seen me make something out of nothing.  She’s seen me hustle.  

She said, 

I would trust you to make a great cake because I’ve seen you make cakes and I’ve tasted your cake in the past so I don’t worry about your capacity to make good cake in the future. 

I make good cake, huh? 

I giggled at her metaphors (all food related, since we’re dieting), but I think she’s on the money. 

I am a diva (which is the female version of a hustler).  I’m seriously not going to be left penniless, homeless and hungry. I have always had a plan.  And I bought a domain name just in case. I go through my school notes, and they are filled with business plans, and funding sources, and potential partners. And I built a beautiful vision board with all my goals on it, and you can’t go wrong with a vision board.  I’m thinking about tumblring my vision board so you guys can see. It’s SO awesome, and I love it. 

I’m still scared shitless, but I’m not letting my fear stop me from moving forward.  In fact, I think my fear propels me forward.  

When my mama says she’s praying and my bosses tell me I’m great, and I interview with managers who tell me that they wish they had the money to hire me (but they don’t and they can’t), and the GF tells me that she’s not riding my anxiety train…… 

I’m going to take a deep breath.  I’m going to smile.  I’m going to nod and agree with them.  Then I’m going to double time it with my business ventures so that I don’t let all these wonderful people down. 

How do you deal with fear and insecurity?

Elysa at GenPink had a recent post titled “Do you call yourself a feminist?”.  In this post, Elysa summarized a discussion that happened on 20-something bloggers about what feminism means and whether 20-somethings still identify with feminism. 

Reading her post reminded me of an ongoing discussion I’ve been having with a group of my friends.  At least one of us REFUSES to call herself a feminist because she’s seen too many gung-ho feminists become uber career-minded until they find a man to take care of them, then all the feminist stuff is thrown out the window.  

While I do call myself a feminist, I often feel the same way.  In college at Salem, from day one as a freshman I was bombarded with the idea that women could do and be anything.  These girls were amazing. When I moved in as a freshman, my dad was prepared to move all my stuff into the dorm room, but little did he know that Salem girls move their own sh*t. He barely lifted a finger and my car was unpacked in no time. 

Over the years, I remember being jealous of (or maybe having crushes on???)some of the girls who seemed to have it all.  There were girls at Salem who were smart, pretty, and seemed to have amazingly bright futures. I couldn’t wait to see the greatness that they would accomplish. 

 One or two years after graduation, I would be excited to read Salem’s alumni magazine to see what the girls were up to. They didn’t disappoint me; United Nations, Capitol Hill, medical school, law school, PhD programs, and adventures is South America, Africa and Europe were often the updates I would read about my Salem sisters. I’ve even seen some of my Salem friends on TV and the NYT. How cool is that? 

Then those updates started to change. For the past few years, the updates I receive are more likely to be about who got married, who’s pregnant, who’s had kid number 1, 2 or 3. And even worse?  Those girls who dated girls all through college who are now married to men and being  f*cking housewives!  These updates piss me off. If the most important thing that is happening to you is your marriage or kids, I really don’t care to know. 

Hmmmm. That didn’t come out exactly how I meant. 

I understand the importance of having a partner in life.  I write a lot about relationships, and my relationship in particular; it is a huge part of my life.  I understand that building a family is important so many people. And I love to rejoice in the joys of my friends. But come on. Did some of the smartest people I know quit their careers to stay home with the kids? I hate to see women give up their hopes, dreams and accomplishments for the husband and kids.  

One of my best friends, who has a really different fairytale than me about where she wants her life to go and also considers herself a feminist, once explained to me that her focus on being married and having kids wasn’t any less feminist than my ball-busting, take the world by storm dream.  She said that feminism isn’t about having a career at the expense of family and husband (or vice versa).  Feminism is about having the choice. I still hate that she’s going to forego her potential brilliance to give birth, but I can dig her argument. 

So I’m thankful to feminists, even those who have turned their backs on the cause. Your struggles make my life possible.   

What does feminism mean to you?  Can one be a house wife and still call herself a feminist?  Do you know women who have turned their back on feminism, and embraced the married with kids life?

How do you married, career ladies keep it all together?