A Dozen

The Chinese calendar divides their version of the zodiac by year, rather than by the dates in a year, as the traditional zodiac calendar does.

There are still twelve signs, but they are one per year, not twelve in one year.

I'm feeling, right now, like I'm reaching the end of a twelve-year cycle in my adult life. It seems somehow impossible that I have even been an adult, a fully-functional, self-sufficient adult, for slightly more than that time. But maybe, I became an adult twelve years ago, and have been a participant in this journey of my zodiac 'year' sign for all this time.

I'm an Ox according to the Chinese calendar. And in the traditional zodiac, I'm a Virgo, an August Virgo, missing fiery Leo by one day. I guess I am a fiery Virgo. Passionate, if you will. Committed. (commitable?) Stable. Fearful of change, of feeling out-of-balance, of feeling out-of-control. This is combined with the recent, developing knowledge that I've gleaned--really, we can't fear being out-of-control. Because we control nothing, really, in this life. We don't control fate coming our way, we don't control when or how death will visit us in this life, in its' various disguises, it's surprising way of simply arriving and blanketing everything we touch with a feeling of unreality. We don't really control our day-to-day life, the small things in it. Car accidents happen, bus drivers are rude and impatient, and you might trip and fall in the street, in front of people, picking yourself up, painfully embarassed, but still just a human being, a human doing--doing the best she can.

The twelve-year summation also relates to work. I've been at the same (quite stressful) job for twelve years. It's a roller-coaster ride, just like life, of some triumphs, some failures (blown up in my mind to far more drama than they really encapsulate), and most of all, as with many jobs, some people who make it all worthwhile, and others who make the journey as torturous and painful as possible. I have coworkers who, over the last few weeks, knowing how stressed everyone is, and how busy we all are, have really pulled together and tried to help, and for that I feel blessed at their dedication, and I feel my own dedication to be more valuable as I witness their struggles, too, dealing with the day to day work we all have to get done, most often under unbearable deadlines. I have clients who are human, whose opinions I value, and who I even consider friends.
And on the sad flip-side of this, I also have clients who make me want to free-fall off a bridge and land in a world where people like them do not exist.
My friend L. says it best--you never know WHAT battles people are fighting when they show you that side of themselves that is better left unseen. And I run this phrase through my head on the difficult days, and there have been ALOT of them lately. Far too many than I care for.

Which is why, here on sacred Sunday morning, I'm pouring these feelings out about work, about career, about stress, about an industry that doesn't allow the achievement of far-off objectives. It's about the here, the now, the opening day, the perfect house, the perfect condominium, the perfect IT. And life's not perfect, and neither are people. It's alot to take, and it's taking up alot right now.
What to do? I guess mining my creative talents to solve problems is one thing. Pre-emptive measures are another.
Coming back to my Virgo-Ox original train of thought, both my signs point to a long life of work-based, work-driven, life satisfaction. It's not really a choice--it's known throughout both zodiacs tht the traits of the Ox (solid, predictable, strong, pulling their weight) and the Virgo (perfectionist, driven, competitive, advisory, intuitive) marry up to form one hell of a work ethic.

I would just like a little break, a short pause of the ever-turning carousel, and seeing the same scenery going by me, round and round, dizzying in its repetition, yet uncontrollable in its sameness.

Today I want to stop the ride and get off.

Thinking...

Thinking About Memoir
That is the title of the book I just finished reading, lent to me by my sister, who purchased it on a whim at the bookstore a couple of weeks ago.
I realized, as I started into the reading of this slim volume, that this writer was a frequent contributor to the Oprah magazine, and had written, sometime around January 2001 or 2002, I'm still not clear on the dates, one of the best articles about life I have ever read. I've even referenced it here on this blog, author unknown, unrealized, talking about this particular phrase, 'the longing for something...it's what makes us human'. That was Abigail Thomas, writer of this particular piece and author of this particular book.
I'm not going to go on and on about it; it's something that has to be experienced, digested, understood. Then, and only then, as a human being on this revolving door planet, will you be able to get through the book (in my case with numerous page pauses and closing the book on your thumb while you ponder what you have just read, and how brilliant this under-appreciated writer really is); but I leave you with this: the closing of the book, written, as far as I can tell, by all intents and purposes, by the publisher. It's a lovely little string of words, and I leave them for you now, as I get ready to go to bed and hopefully dream about a world where all these things exist. I quote the back chapter of the book:
A Note About the Series
Thinking About Memoir is the first volume in an ongoing series on the arts of living that AARP books will publish over the next few years. The series is intended to provoke thinking about some of the personal and public disciplines that have fallen into disuse in our recent history; such virtues as civility, conversation, listening, courage, loyalty, remembering, patience, and love.

I think for me, this pretty well sums it all up.

Happy Anniversary

Thank you
for forty years
for being together
even when things weren't always perfect.

Your friend stopped in to my office today.
he started crying.
I cried too.

I know you want to go there alone.
I don't like it, but I'll allow it.
After talking to Aunt K last night,
I'm going to give up that fight.

I want you to know
You don't have to look at anything
As giving up.
I won't look at it like that either.
I mean, I don't, either.

Just so you know,
I wouldn't have even made it this far.
I love you Dad.
And Mom.

Thank you both for being you
even when things weren't always perfect.

September's Gone

I missed pretty much the entire month, what with a long stretch of vacation, someone new in my life, and the adjustment of returning back to 'normal life' after being away. I didn't write at all really, except some letters to my new long-distance boyfriend.

I wasn't regularly on email for almost two weeks, as I was busy experiencing life during my trip as new, whole, and not as broken as the last few months.

One email to my parents tells them I feel "more like myself again".

I thought about that statement after reading my Dad's reply, he was so glad to hear that.

More like myself is, as I've indicated in previous posts, is more playful and less stoic; more centred and less restless; more committed and less anxious.

But, as I related to a close friend on the weekend, since I've been back, I've been...forgetful. Misplacing objects. Forgetting to return calls. Not as tirelessly communicating with all those in my life. That is really not like me.

I tried to pinpoint where the shift occurred.

In the same conversation with this very close friend, A., who imparts her wisdom and knowledge on me with an eloquence that few people I have ever met are gifted with, we talked about the need for control in life. How people employ so many methods and strategies (not all of them healthy) to "manage the uncertainty" in life....that's when it hit me.

In dealing with issues of recent months, and prior to that, I realized I had really no control over some events that had occurred, and had continued to occur in my life. All I had was an illusion of control--meaning, I could imagine all I wanted to that things were going along the way I had in mind, when in reality I'm simply an instrument of fate, meeting life halfway as much as I can.

It sounds frightening. It's not really. It can, if allowed to, be kind of freeing.

That is the shift I think.

I'm not overly trying to manage and control every detail right now.
In dealing with some family health issues, I don't have the energy.

Poem

I wish I had the words
To show you the inside
of my heart.
It's a place that
some days
I don't even get to.

I think I've realized
the difference
Between life here on earth
and life after.
There, there is no fear
Here, we breathe it in like air
and expel it out
Only to draw it in again.

I once thought
a few words and
some paper
Would solve all the problems
But words can be erased
and paper can blow away.
It can get ripped,
and shredded

Land in the water
and drift away there.

Recover Me

The light flits into the window
slatted by the blinds.
Same light (I suppose) as last night,
as last year.
My arm holds onto the window ledge
same arm, it's been here all the time.

It's dusk, the sky is that August blue,
azure, alight,
dark and light.
The buildings stand
solid and real
Pretty much
the same buildings as before.

But those are the only familiar things
Because inside my head
inside my life
Everything is different.

I'm marooned on my bed, with a book,
and a glass of water.

And then a friend calls.

Knowing

Over the bridge is where I split in two,
Above the road, away from you.
Away from me, and away from my thoughts
They swirl around but then get lost.

On the pavement I had them lined up in a row
All my beliefs about how life should go
This thirty-sixth year they all blew away
Nothing I can do makes things any other way.

My life continues to morph to another shape
From the one I had before
Its the one I'm supposed to be living I imagine.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it could.

When I try to control my thoughts,
it's easier to accept that I don't have control,
Over anything, really.
I just have this soul.
Carrying me over the road
Someone else's route?

I think about karma, it's unbending rules
And wonder exactly what did I do
The examined life, I know I chose it all

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it should.

From another poem, Later got older
But I don't see the future,
In a way that makes me afraid.
Because fear of life never got anyone anywhere.

This thirty-seventh year is looking at me curiously
Telling me I wanted to be here, despite my desire to crawl back in time
And fix things to what I think they could be or should be.

I can't do that.
I have to live my life forward.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it will.