Tonight I cried. Over a silly order I made online, a pot rack for our apartment. Clearly, I am in a pathetic state of mind as of present.
What it is that gets me here and how it is that I can overcome it is both difficult for me to identify as well as a subject I regularly attempt to evade. But it is a terrible (and, perhaps, even destructive) cycle that needs to find a break. I feel overwhelmed by the tasks placed before me and thus I take the low road, passing off the responsibilities til another time. But because I have wasted my time and expended my energy on less important things, I am disappointed in myself. This disappointment leads to a lack of complacency, the complacency interferes with my will to be productive, once again I am disappointed in myself, and the cycle continues.
Honestly, I live with few consequences if I choose to do what I want rather than what I should. And perhaps that's what makes those "should do" tasks seems so menial. And yet, to jump to the other end of the spectrum, I don't necessarily seek out a meaningful lifestyle. I'm not driven (like I imagined I would be at this stage in my life) to "make a difference" or "be somebody," I'm drab, it seems.
Actually, to make things worse, at times I feel revved up, ready to accomplish something. And yet, so quickly, that passion can be snuffed out. And I've come to be accustomed to that... And I think that's a scary thing.
I've become an avid reader of home and crafting blogs. For hours I can spend reading through the ideas of others, such creative and innovative DIY projects, design ideas, and countless pictures of perfect homes. But when I close the web browser, a funny thing happens -- I notice I am irritated. It's only after many times of encountering this mood shift that I am now able to identify what causes it. I want those perfect rooms and design ideas and crafting skills. I want to have the perfect kitchen and the perfect apron to go with my perfect outfit. Laugh-out-loud ridiculousness, to say the least, I know. I could list off any and all the justifications for why that is utterly silly. And yet I still play the fool almost every time.
I want to live constantly thankful for what I have and patient for what could be, but only in the proper timing. I guess that's key right now: patience. I want the perfect home right this instant. In fact, I just want to skip living in this apartment altogether and move right into our dream home, complete with a wrap-around porch and vegetable garden. But I know I will drive myself crazy if I keep living that way. 'Cause all the dreaming and wishing won't make it happen.
Thankfulness. Patience. Thankfulness. Patience. Thankfulness. Patience.
Unfinished Business
This is a post I began working on well over a month ago. Ironically, I never finished and posted it. I probably got distracted. But I have a right mind to finish something around here so here we go...
Distractions are so easy to come by. Plus, I have limited self-discipline. Unfortunately, with these two factors working in tandem I have become a flighty, passionless, unmotivated, irresponsible "blob." For some, my current lifestyle and mind-frame may reflect a standard they find socially acceptable. But for me -- I'm feeling disappointed in myself. Instead of checking tasks off my "to-do" list I flip on the television or take a nap. Instead of picking up a book I turn on my laptop to check out Facebook news or the most recent YouTube video. Instead of stepping outside for a walk or heading to the nearest park to lounge on the grass I stay couped up inside. And by the end of the day I feel unaccomplished and wasteful of my time & blessings.
Even right now I have to fight the urge every few moments to pop open a new tab and see what the news is on Facebook. I just checked it 7 minutes ago. But I think it is similar to the bad habit so many of us have adopted -- reaching for our phone even without a specific purpose for using it. We have conditioned our brains to be fed information on a regular basis. Like a smoker who may find themselves subconsciously reaching for another cigarette, our modes of information input have become our addiction, even without most of us knowing it. And, again, while many may find this acceptable -- a way of life, "just how things are these days" -- I don't want to fit that mold.
But I know I already have some back-tracking to do. I have already allowed media and technology and the consumption of information to play a controlling part in my life. And I may not know the full scope of its control but I can look upon this area in my life from a third-party perspective and recognize when I am allowing myself to be seduced by the noise and the flashy images and all the components that make this information age so appealing and addicting. For example: Right now we have a few cable channels. So after I send Jordan off to work it is all to easy to flip on the TV. I tell myself, "I'll just watch until 8 o'clock." Of course, at 7:58 when the TV shows change I catch myself caught up in new show. So I make an extension - "I'll just watch this show and then turn it off." Even if I am good to my word and turn the TV off I find some excuse to turn it back on only a short time later.
Of course, right now our situation is unique considering we are living in a motel in a relatively unfamiliar city. It takes more effort to engage in other activities such as doing the laundry or finding the nearest grocery store or even going for a brief walk Regardless, I do not want to fill my spare time turning my brain off to be fed information or entertained. And, on top of that, I have plenty of things that I need to get done that keep getting pushed back by my lack of desire to engage my brain.
...And that's where it ended. Superficially, that could seem like a sufficient ending. But I'm sure I had a million more related topics rollin' around in my head that I could have spilled. Needless to say, not much has changed since I first composed this. Except that we now live in an apartment. Which brings with it a whole new set of "blog-able" issues.
Distractions are so easy to come by. Plus, I have limited self-discipline. Unfortunately, with these two factors working in tandem I have become a flighty, passionless, unmotivated, irresponsible "blob." For some, my current lifestyle and mind-frame may reflect a standard they find socially acceptable. But for me -- I'm feeling disappointed in myself. Instead of checking tasks off my "to-do" list I flip on the television or take a nap. Instead of picking up a book I turn on my laptop to check out Facebook news or the most recent YouTube video. Instead of stepping outside for a walk or heading to the nearest park to lounge on the grass I stay couped up inside. And by the end of the day I feel unaccomplished and wasteful of my time & blessings.
Even right now I have to fight the urge every few moments to pop open a new tab and see what the news is on Facebook. I just checked it 7 minutes ago. But I think it is similar to the bad habit so many of us have adopted -- reaching for our phone even without a specific purpose for using it. We have conditioned our brains to be fed information on a regular basis. Like a smoker who may find themselves subconsciously reaching for another cigarette, our modes of information input have become our addiction, even without most of us knowing it. And, again, while many may find this acceptable -- a way of life, "just how things are these days" -- I don't want to fit that mold.
But I know I already have some back-tracking to do. I have already allowed media and technology and the consumption of information to play a controlling part in my life. And I may not know the full scope of its control but I can look upon this area in my life from a third-party perspective and recognize when I am allowing myself to be seduced by the noise and the flashy images and all the components that make this information age so appealing and addicting. For example: Right now we have a few cable channels. So after I send Jordan off to work it is all to easy to flip on the TV. I tell myself, "I'll just watch until 8 o'clock." Of course, at 7:58 when the TV shows change I catch myself caught up in new show. So I make an extension - "I'll just watch this show and then turn it off." Even if I am good to my word and turn the TV off I find some excuse to turn it back on only a short time later.
Of course, right now our situation is unique considering we are living in a motel in a relatively unfamiliar city. It takes more effort to engage in other activities such as doing the laundry or finding the nearest grocery store or even going for a brief walk Regardless, I do not want to fill my spare time turning my brain off to be fed information or entertained. And, on top of that, I have plenty of things that I need to get done that keep getting pushed back by my lack of desire to engage my brain.
...And that's where it ended. Superficially, that could seem like a sufficient ending. But I'm sure I had a million more related topics rollin' around in my head that I could have spilled. Needless to say, not much has changed since I first composed this. Except that we now live in an apartment. Which brings with it a whole new set of "blog-able" issues.
Two weeks
Sunday, March 20
Three weeks ago I received a phone call from a woman working with United Cerbal Palsy of Orange County. She explained that she was interested in my resume but could not exactly identify where I met the one year of experience requirement. I told where in my "career" I felt I had met that requirement but she informed me that it wasn't enough, that I could volunteer to get that experience, but that I was presently not qualified. I hung up feeling thoroughly disappointed -- I had gotten so close to a job, better yet, a job in my field, and yet I was once again turned down. However, my mind gears were set into motion and I began thinking about my job experience and how I felt it met the requirements. So, after much deliberation, I tried calling her the next morning to state my case. No answer. I tried again later that day but again was met with no answer. I decided to write her an email as I felt it would be the most successful option in reaching her. Plus, emails are a glorious thing -- you can take a much time needed to fully convey your message.
I was concerned that I was being too forward. I was raised to accept and respect rules and standards. If their organization says I need a year of experience that's just how it is. Why should they make an exception for me just because I feel qualified. And yet, another voice was telling me that all too often it is advised to be persistent and diligent in acquiring a job. Essentially it boiled down to this: what could it hurt? If she likes what I have to say, she'll take me in. If not, I never have to speak to her again and the embarrassment of being rejected again will be just another story in my novel about job hunting.
And yet, it worked. The next day I received a phone call from her with the promise of only an interview which I gladly accepted. Now, up to this point I knew very little about the job. The description on the webpage was very limited and when I wrote my email "begging" (ha) for the job I thought, "This is an inappropriate time to say -- Hope you reconsider me for the job! By the way, what exactly is this job?" ...Plus, I figured, "Who doesn't like special needs kids. Not liking special needs kids is like not liking puppies! This job has gotta be right down my alley."
So, the whirlwind began. On Wednesday I had the interview, got the job, and went to get my TB test (yuck) and drug test. Thursday morning I got finger-printed and by Friday I was back at the office for the training. During the training it was mentioned that I would like be paired with a young boy who is one of the more challenging boys in their program. I was honored -- I climbed victoriously to the top of this mountain, got the job, and now I'm gunna be workin' pro-status! All the was great as I prepared for my first day with my first kid. Granted, I was a little nervous as I weighed how much experience I truly had with how challenging this boy sounded. But I love the idea of being a "betterer" in someone's life and I thought this would be just the opportunity.
Monday morning I was a bag of nerves. All those worries of a first day churned in my stomach. Will he like me? Will I remember all my training? What if I do something wrong? ...Thankfully my supervisor was able to attend with me the first day and demonstrate good interaction with my student. But, of all the disabilities I had worked with, his was not one of them. And so, essentially, even though I had eeked by with my few months of experience to get the job, it was as though I was starting from scratch. Each disability is so different, I had absolutely no preparation to work with this one. The first day was certainly difficult and even though I left feeling positive, I experienced no sense of true desire to go back. In every other job I've had, even though the first day may have been difficult, there has alway been that desire to go at it again the next day and improve myself. Or at least go back to increase my paycheck. But there was something missing in my drive home. And I assured myself all I needed was more time.
The morning of day two I was once again nervous. More nervous than the day before. But naturally so, as I would be with Charlie all by myself. And yet, what bothered my was the presence of anxiety. So much so, that I found myself unable to eat anything... My day with him start out smoothly. And then his hit a wall. Thankfully, we were in an empty room where one of the site leaders was eating her lunch. I attempted to call him, but he became aggressive toward me, hitting me, kicking me, and throwing his shoes at me. In theory, a kindergartner going at you wouldn't seem too scary. Expect for the fact that it is difficult to understand why he is upset in begin with and it is even more challenging to understand what he needs to come down from his outburst. As per my training, I removed myself from the room and the leader inside was able to keep watch over him.
Once I stepped outside, the emotions surged. Even now, I can't exactly identify why. Most likely, I was just shocked. Shocked that a five-year-old, with whom I should be able to minimally reason with and manage their behavior, was exploding like a two-year-old who has the malicious intentions of an angst-filled teenager. I thought this was it, and I was prepared to call my supervisor and quit. Naturally, by the time I got on the phone with her to inform her of the situation, my illogical aspirations had died and I resumed level-headedness. Thankfully, by the time I finished my conversation with my supervisor, he had calmed down and was in his post-tantrum, recovery trance. The remainder of the day went relatively well, although I couldn't help but lay to rest the emotions bubbling under the surface. I believe I cried on the way home.
Wednesday morning, I was a mess again. My anxiety levels were through the roof and I dreaded my day with the kid. This was a great concern for me. I hate the feelings yet, still, could not completely understand them. Praise the Lord, my supervisor attended his site again for part of the day so I was able to once again watch the master at work. When she's around, all is at bay. But only a short while after leaving, he flipped. I kept the tears from flowing, and my adrenaline kicked it allowing me to function smoothly and rationally... but deep down, I was hating every minute. After his one incident, he was a charm. And after another full day, I felt relatively optimistic of the day to come.
By Thursday morning, it was evident the pattern that was taking its toll on me emotionally and mentally. I was a mess. If anyone would have asked me if I wanted my wisdom teeth pulled over going to work, I would have accepted in a heart beat. A fireball of anxiety sat in the pit of my stomach all morning. As I plunged deeper into investigating the cause of all this overwhelming emotion I began to realize a top contender -- the fear of the unknown, unpredictability, and inconsistentsy. I compared it to training a young horse; it is nearly inevitable that, at some point, the green equine will manage to throw you, buck you, or even kick you. And that puts me way on edge. I hate knowing that brewing under the seemingly passive situation is a wild animal ready to unleash hell. My time came and went with the kid and after a day living with extreme anxiety and the feeling of, once again, being unprepared to deal with his array of problems I knew what I had to do. I email my supervisor and insisted we meet.
My intentions were to make it clear: I am not prepared or, perhaps, even have the passion for working with such a child. My supervisor has been beyond generous and understanding in working with me through this time of "self-reflection." Our meeting went great and I felt confident to take on what I presumed to be my last day with the kid. As she had already planned it into her schedule, my supervisor offered to attend with me at the site and give me pointers that would benefit me in working with future children. As if things weren't already confusing enough, the day went beautifully. I hated to admit is since I was so certain I was not a good fit for the kid, but I gained more confidence that day and felt as though I could be successful in this area after all.
After much contemplation and conversation over the weekend I made a decision: it was impossible to tell if perhaps I was making progress or the day was an isolated success and the only way to tell was to continue to support the kid the following week. Monday rolled around and I was nervous, to say the least, but I was prepared and ready to see what a new week held. Unfortunately, the kid had spent the weekend at his father's and came to school dressed in clothes he wasn't used to, without his blanket, and in a general "funk," which quickly evoked physical expressions of his discomfort and anxiety. In the midst of a meltdown, which required me to leave the room, I called my supervisor who informed me she actually en route to the school. I was relieved. And, thankfully, she stayed the whole day.
At the end of the day, after much interaction with him -- some positive, some negative -- she was uncertain of his future with the program. He was exhibiting behaviors that concerned her, and she made her directions to me clear: let's just survive this week. I was to keep my interactions with and commands towards him limited to none. I saw it as an easy task; I would let him do his thing and, ultimately, avoid any aggressive behavior that made me so anxious.
The next day began well. Right around 3:15 p.m. the next day he decided to run off the premises. I retrieved him and told him it was time to play inside since he couldn't stay where he was supposed to be. We very calmly walked back to the portables and upon entering he began hitting, kicking, and throwing things at me. So set the mood for the rest of the day. He proceeded to elope several more times and throw tantrums that would result in aggression towards me. I was over it, tired, beat, wanting to be anywhere but there. I emailed my supervisor that night to give her a run-down of the day. I told her I would finish out the week but I couldn't support him any further after that. Wednesday I showed up for work and thirty minutes later she showed up at the site. She was understanding of my difficulty with him and informed me that I would be switching with another I.F.
I was relieved, of course, but I realized the implications of this switch. In a sense, I felt as though I had failed. I strive for success but I clearly had missed the mark this time. I understood that certain factors involved were out of my control, yet still, in that moment, even though I wanted nothing else than to walk away from the kid forever, I also felt the desire to turn back around and commit to being the change in his life. But, after a long and tiring week with him, I really was truly ready to take a step back. And I was thankful for the opportunity to support another kid. This was the moment I felt would truly know whether or not this was the direction for my life.
Throughout my two weeks with the job, I have been confronted with the looming question: is this line of work truly right for me? This question is so imperative because, to me, something like this is not just work. It's the investment of one soul into another. And because of that, an underlying passion needs to be present. When I was offered the job I thought it couldn't have been a more perfect fit. After all, not wanting to work with special needs kids is like saying, I don't like rainbows or puppies. Everyone would love to work with special needs kids given the chance, right? During my first week I was concerned -- what if this isn't something I feel passionate about? What if I don't have a desire to invest time and heart into working with special needs kids? Does that make me a bad person?
I got to the point where I answered "no" to that last question. Jordan doesn't work with special needs kids and he's not a bad person. And if someone offered him one job engineering and another working with special edies, he would pick the former. Why? Because that is his passion. We were all endowed by our Creator with likes, dislikes, passions, disgusts. So for me to admit that this is not a field of interest for me does not make me an ugly person.
Of course, I did not want to make any decisions after having only interacted with one kid. So I was excited when I was assigned a different student for the week. I was thankful it would give me the opportunity to experience a different perspective. And I couldn't have gotten further on the opposite end of the spectrum. The girl I was assigned to was as high functioning as they come. Granted, her disabilities still come out in her every day functioning. But I was fortunate to see her in her best state for the three days I spent with her. So, I knew, this was the moment, having seen both the crazy and the calm, that I would be able to determine if this was something that I wanted to continue to pursue.
And after two weeks of a myriad of experiences, I am still confused. Should I try a little harder to invest myself into this? Am I just turned off by the idea of having to work when I would rather play housewife? I love being a contributor as well, but I also love tending to my home and husband. I have thought and contemplated and cried and prayed and conversed about this topic for more hours that I can count. But I'm still left without a final resolution. And today I need to email my supervisor. Because I can't keep living wishy-washy like this. Either I'm in or I'm out. I need to be determined in one or the other. So, here I go, about to email her, hoping the words will just come, still hoping for diving intervention...
I was concerned that I was being too forward. I was raised to accept and respect rules and standards. If their organization says I need a year of experience that's just how it is. Why should they make an exception for me just because I feel qualified. And yet, another voice was telling me that all too often it is advised to be persistent and diligent in acquiring a job. Essentially it boiled down to this: what could it hurt? If she likes what I have to say, she'll take me in. If not, I never have to speak to her again and the embarrassment of being rejected again will be just another story in my novel about job hunting.
And yet, it worked. The next day I received a phone call from her with the promise of only an interview which I gladly accepted. Now, up to this point I knew very little about the job. The description on the webpage was very limited and when I wrote my email "begging" (ha) for the job I thought, "This is an inappropriate time to say -- Hope you reconsider me for the job! By the way, what exactly is this job?" ...Plus, I figured, "Who doesn't like special needs kids. Not liking special needs kids is like not liking puppies! This job has gotta be right down my alley."
So, the whirlwind began. On Wednesday I had the interview, got the job, and went to get my TB test (yuck) and drug test. Thursday morning I got finger-printed and by Friday I was back at the office for the training. During the training it was mentioned that I would like be paired with a young boy who is one of the more challenging boys in their program. I was honored -- I climbed victoriously to the top of this mountain, got the job, and now I'm gunna be workin' pro-status! All the was great as I prepared for my first day with my first kid. Granted, I was a little nervous as I weighed how much experience I truly had with how challenging this boy sounded. But I love the idea of being a "betterer" in someone's life and I thought this would be just the opportunity.
Monday morning I was a bag of nerves. All those worries of a first day churned in my stomach. Will he like me? Will I remember all my training? What if I do something wrong? ...Thankfully my supervisor was able to attend with me the first day and demonstrate good interaction with my student. But, of all the disabilities I had worked with, his was not one of them. And so, essentially, even though I had eeked by with my few months of experience to get the job, it was as though I was starting from scratch. Each disability is so different, I had absolutely no preparation to work with this one. The first day was certainly difficult and even though I left feeling positive, I experienced no sense of true desire to go back. In every other job I've had, even though the first day may have been difficult, there has alway been that desire to go at it again the next day and improve myself. Or at least go back to increase my paycheck. But there was something missing in my drive home. And I assured myself all I needed was more time.
The morning of day two I was once again nervous. More nervous than the day before. But naturally so, as I would be with Charlie all by myself. And yet, what bothered my was the presence of anxiety. So much so, that I found myself unable to eat anything... My day with him start out smoothly. And then his hit a wall. Thankfully, we were in an empty room where one of the site leaders was eating her lunch. I attempted to call him, but he became aggressive toward me, hitting me, kicking me, and throwing his shoes at me. In theory, a kindergartner going at you wouldn't seem too scary. Expect for the fact that it is difficult to understand why he is upset in begin with and it is even more challenging to understand what he needs to come down from his outburst. As per my training, I removed myself from the room and the leader inside was able to keep watch over him.
Once I stepped outside, the emotions surged. Even now, I can't exactly identify why. Most likely, I was just shocked. Shocked that a five-year-old, with whom I should be able to minimally reason with and manage their behavior, was exploding like a two-year-old who has the malicious intentions of an angst-filled teenager. I thought this was it, and I was prepared to call my supervisor and quit. Naturally, by the time I got on the phone with her to inform her of the situation, my illogical aspirations had died and I resumed level-headedness. Thankfully, by the time I finished my conversation with my supervisor, he had calmed down and was in his post-tantrum, recovery trance. The remainder of the day went relatively well, although I couldn't help but lay to rest the emotions bubbling under the surface. I believe I cried on the way home.
Wednesday morning, I was a mess again. My anxiety levels were through the roof and I dreaded my day with the kid. This was a great concern for me. I hate the feelings yet, still, could not completely understand them. Praise the Lord, my supervisor attended his site again for part of the day so I was able to once again watch the master at work. When she's around, all is at bay. But only a short while after leaving, he flipped. I kept the tears from flowing, and my adrenaline kicked it allowing me to function smoothly and rationally... but deep down, I was hating every minute. After his one incident, he was a charm. And after another full day, I felt relatively optimistic of the day to come.
By Thursday morning, it was evident the pattern that was taking its toll on me emotionally and mentally. I was a mess. If anyone would have asked me if I wanted my wisdom teeth pulled over going to work, I would have accepted in a heart beat. A fireball of anxiety sat in the pit of my stomach all morning. As I plunged deeper into investigating the cause of all this overwhelming emotion I began to realize a top contender -- the fear of the unknown, unpredictability, and inconsistentsy. I compared it to training a young horse; it is nearly inevitable that, at some point, the green equine will manage to throw you, buck you, or even kick you. And that puts me way on edge. I hate knowing that brewing under the seemingly passive situation is a wild animal ready to unleash hell. My time came and went with the kid and after a day living with extreme anxiety and the feeling of, once again, being unprepared to deal with his array of problems I knew what I had to do. I email my supervisor and insisted we meet.
My intentions were to make it clear: I am not prepared or, perhaps, even have the passion for working with such a child. My supervisor has been beyond generous and understanding in working with me through this time of "self-reflection." Our meeting went great and I felt confident to take on what I presumed to be my last day with the kid. As she had already planned it into her schedule, my supervisor offered to attend with me at the site and give me pointers that would benefit me in working with future children. As if things weren't already confusing enough, the day went beautifully. I hated to admit is since I was so certain I was not a good fit for the kid, but I gained more confidence that day and felt as though I could be successful in this area after all.
After much contemplation and conversation over the weekend I made a decision: it was impossible to tell if perhaps I was making progress or the day was an isolated success and the only way to tell was to continue to support the kid the following week. Monday rolled around and I was nervous, to say the least, but I was prepared and ready to see what a new week held. Unfortunately, the kid had spent the weekend at his father's and came to school dressed in clothes he wasn't used to, without his blanket, and in a general "funk," which quickly evoked physical expressions of his discomfort and anxiety. In the midst of a meltdown, which required me to leave the room, I called my supervisor who informed me she actually en route to the school. I was relieved. And, thankfully, she stayed the whole day.
At the end of the day, after much interaction with him -- some positive, some negative -- she was uncertain of his future with the program. He was exhibiting behaviors that concerned her, and she made her directions to me clear: let's just survive this week. I was to keep my interactions with and commands towards him limited to none. I saw it as an easy task; I would let him do his thing and, ultimately, avoid any aggressive behavior that made me so anxious.
The next day began well. Right around 3:15 p.m. the next day he decided to run off the premises. I retrieved him and told him it was time to play inside since he couldn't stay where he was supposed to be. We very calmly walked back to the portables and upon entering he began hitting, kicking, and throwing things at me. So set the mood for the rest of the day. He proceeded to elope several more times and throw tantrums that would result in aggression towards me. I was over it, tired, beat, wanting to be anywhere but there. I emailed my supervisor that night to give her a run-down of the day. I told her I would finish out the week but I couldn't support him any further after that. Wednesday I showed up for work and thirty minutes later she showed up at the site. She was understanding of my difficulty with him and informed me that I would be switching with another I.F.
I was relieved, of course, but I realized the implications of this switch. In a sense, I felt as though I had failed. I strive for success but I clearly had missed the mark this time. I understood that certain factors involved were out of my control, yet still, in that moment, even though I wanted nothing else than to walk away from the kid forever, I also felt the desire to turn back around and commit to being the change in his life. But, after a long and tiring week with him, I really was truly ready to take a step back. And I was thankful for the opportunity to support another kid. This was the moment I felt would truly know whether or not this was the direction for my life.
Throughout my two weeks with the job, I have been confronted with the looming question: is this line of work truly right for me? This question is so imperative because, to me, something like this is not just work. It's the investment of one soul into another. And because of that, an underlying passion needs to be present. When I was offered the job I thought it couldn't have been a more perfect fit. After all, not wanting to work with special needs kids is like saying, I don't like rainbows or puppies. Everyone would love to work with special needs kids given the chance, right? During my first week I was concerned -- what if this isn't something I feel passionate about? What if I don't have a desire to invest time and heart into working with special needs kids? Does that make me a bad person?
I got to the point where I answered "no" to that last question. Jordan doesn't work with special needs kids and he's not a bad person. And if someone offered him one job engineering and another working with special edies, he would pick the former. Why? Because that is his passion. We were all endowed by our Creator with likes, dislikes, passions, disgusts. So for me to admit that this is not a field of interest for me does not make me an ugly person.
Of course, I did not want to make any decisions after having only interacted with one kid. So I was excited when I was assigned a different student for the week. I was thankful it would give me the opportunity to experience a different perspective. And I couldn't have gotten further on the opposite end of the spectrum. The girl I was assigned to was as high functioning as they come. Granted, her disabilities still come out in her every day functioning. But I was fortunate to see her in her best state for the three days I spent with her. So, I knew, this was the moment, having seen both the crazy and the calm, that I would be able to determine if this was something that I wanted to continue to pursue.
And after two weeks of a myriad of experiences, I am still confused. Should I try a little harder to invest myself into this? Am I just turned off by the idea of having to work when I would rather play housewife? I love being a contributor as well, but I also love tending to my home and husband. I have thought and contemplated and cried and prayed and conversed about this topic for more hours that I can count. But I'm still left without a final resolution. And today I need to email my supervisor. Because I can't keep living wishy-washy like this. Either I'm in or I'm out. I need to be determined in one or the other. So, here I go, about to email her, hoping the words will just come, still hoping for diving intervention...
canker sore
Thursday, February 10
I am attempting to find the word that most accurately depicts my current mental, spiritual, and emotional state. I would say war, but I do not feel justified to compare my being, enveloped in a plethora of blessings, with gruesome, deadly combat. Someone who loses a loved one is going through a war. Someone who is diagnosed with a terminal illness is going through a war. I am surrounded by loved ones, living comfortably with my husband, with my health intact. This is no war zone.
Perhaps "storm" is a better word.. Granted, the reason I even seek for the perfect descriptor is because words such as these portray turmoil in such a cliché manner."War," "storm," "rollercoaster" -- all words that we so commonly use to explain difficult moments in life. I want to more accurately pin-point a word with which I can associate my own stage of tumultuousness.
On one hand, I find myself discrediting my current state as being silly, foolish, dramatic, and simply, "no big deal." But I am concerned there is a danger in that. While perhaps some of the emotions associated with this low period in my life are aggravated by female hormones, my underlying dramatic personality, etc., there is indeed some root issue, or rather, issues, that would be detrimental to continue to ignore. Thus, what I believe to me most beneficial is a critical examination of my life that requires pulling away the layers of silly, outlandish intuitions while maintaining the integrity off the core issues.
"Canker sore." Maybe that is a better description. Well, at least when compared to the canker sores I tend to get. A canker sore starts out almost unnoticed. You run your tongue across the site of the infection but your brain registers no pain. It feels perhaps warm & a little sensitive, but definitely not painful. So even though you could identify that a sore is brewing under the skin, you choose to ignore it because it posses no immediate threat to your current state of comfort and well-being. But as that sore begins to grow & the infection deepens you become more aware of the nasty bugger, & every time your tongue passes over it or you chew food, the canker sore throbs a little more with pain. Eventually, the discomfort becomes so intense it is near impossible to go five minutes without thinking about it. Only when you sleep do you experience relief. But not 30 seconds after waking up does the reality hit you once again that this miserable pest is residing in your mouth.
This is how a canker sore most adequately describes what I am gong through. As uncomfortable as it may be, a canker sore is just a topical wound. It is not cancerous. It does not prevent me from performing routine functions. And only I can really notice it. But just like a paper cut, it feels as though no other ailment could hurt more. In reality, there is pain that far surpasses a little canker sore. Nonetheless, the sore is nuisance, a source of discomfort, and I am constantly wondering how long before it will go away & what I can do to make it better. And although it doesn't impair my ability to continue on with life, it does hinder certain functions such as eating hot foods or, when it gets particularly large, talking without it getting in the way. In other words, I recognize that my current state of being is not completely broken or bruised or sick. Nor is it in top shape. There is a "canker sore" of issues which have become too uncomfortable, even too painful, to ignore any longer. And while there are things I can do to progress the healing process, they as well are no free ticket to a resolution. Like salt water on a sore, it does good for the cleaning and healing of the wound, but it certainly has its painful side effects as well.
Well, I guess the first step to recovery is identifying the problem: there is a canker sore in my brain. I suppose the one failure in my analogy is absence of a true solution. Meaning, while I can assist in the healing of a canker sore, realistically, it must heal itself. Incomparably so, my "canker sore" is something that will only go away with proactive treatment. The discomfort will only go away when I choose to make it so. Unfortunately, unlike a real canker sore, getting rid of this infection of sorts is not as straight forward. In fact, the measures necessary for recovery are completely foreign to me. But there are resources out there and it must make use of the them.
Perhaps "storm" is a better word.. Granted, the reason I even seek for the perfect descriptor is because words such as these portray turmoil in such a cliché manner."War," "storm," "rollercoaster" -- all words that we so commonly use to explain difficult moments in life. I want to more accurately pin-point a word with which I can associate my own stage of tumultuousness.
On one hand, I find myself discrediting my current state as being silly, foolish, dramatic, and simply, "no big deal." But I am concerned there is a danger in that. While perhaps some of the emotions associated with this low period in my life are aggravated by female hormones, my underlying dramatic personality, etc., there is indeed some root issue, or rather, issues, that would be detrimental to continue to ignore. Thus, what I believe to me most beneficial is a critical examination of my life that requires pulling away the layers of silly, outlandish intuitions while maintaining the integrity off the core issues.
"Canker sore." Maybe that is a better description. Well, at least when compared to the canker sores I tend to get. A canker sore starts out almost unnoticed. You run your tongue across the site of the infection but your brain registers no pain. It feels perhaps warm & a little sensitive, but definitely not painful. So even though you could identify that a sore is brewing under the skin, you choose to ignore it because it posses no immediate threat to your current state of comfort and well-being. But as that sore begins to grow & the infection deepens you become more aware of the nasty bugger, & every time your tongue passes over it or you chew food, the canker sore throbs a little more with pain. Eventually, the discomfort becomes so intense it is near impossible to go five minutes without thinking about it. Only when you sleep do you experience relief. But not 30 seconds after waking up does the reality hit you once again that this miserable pest is residing in your mouth.
This is how a canker sore most adequately describes what I am gong through. As uncomfortable as it may be, a canker sore is just a topical wound. It is not cancerous. It does not prevent me from performing routine functions. And only I can really notice it. But just like a paper cut, it feels as though no other ailment could hurt more. In reality, there is pain that far surpasses a little canker sore. Nonetheless, the sore is nuisance, a source of discomfort, and I am constantly wondering how long before it will go away & what I can do to make it better. And although it doesn't impair my ability to continue on with life, it does hinder certain functions such as eating hot foods or, when it gets particularly large, talking without it getting in the way. In other words, I recognize that my current state of being is not completely broken or bruised or sick. Nor is it in top shape. There is a "canker sore" of issues which have become too uncomfortable, even too painful, to ignore any longer. And while there are things I can do to progress the healing process, they as well are no free ticket to a resolution. Like salt water on a sore, it does good for the cleaning and healing of the wound, but it certainly has its painful side effects as well.
Well, I guess the first step to recovery is identifying the problem: there is a canker sore in my brain. I suppose the one failure in my analogy is absence of a true solution. Meaning, while I can assist in the healing of a canker sore, realistically, it must heal itself. Incomparably so, my "canker sore" is something that will only go away with proactive treatment. The discomfort will only go away when I choose to make it so. Unfortunately, unlike a real canker sore, getting rid of this infection of sorts is not as straight forward. In fact, the measures necessary for recovery are completely foreign to me. But there are resources out there and it must make use of the them.
On being "let go"
Monday, December 13
I don't entirely understand why the phrases "laid off" and "let go" ever came into existence. Except for helping the speaker refine their employment status, it really seems no better than being fired. Granted, I have never been fired. But the facts all seem to line up. Whether fired or laid off or let go the individual is still left jobless, must once again labor and toil in hunting for a new job, and is overall left with a sense of uselessness.
Today, for the first time, I was "let go." Although I was told that it is at no fault of my own, it's still rather depressing. Everything about my post-college career has been depressing. Searching for a job, endlessly, for hours upon hours each day, was awful. People, in their genuine concern, constantly inquired about my current employment situation. "Still nothing," I replied over and over. But finally! something came along. And something that I thought I'd be good at. And even though there were some negative aspects of the job, I regularly reminded myself, all jobs have pros and cons. I highly doubt anyone has ever worked a job wherein they were 100% satisfied with everything. We are humans - it isn't in our nature to want to work.
But here I am. Sitting at home, back to square one. Although I am disappointed, to some extent there is a sense of liberation I'm sure any "fired/laid off/let go" individual feels. I have told myself, this is an opportunity to do those things I could never find the time to do when I was occupied with work. And, you have been needing to examine some changes in your life and this is the time to do it, Corinne! But, I can get to that tomorrow. Today I just need to sit here and be mopey. Before I pick up being forward-minded I need to sit and tend of my feelings of failure.
Today, for the first time, I was "let go." Although I was told that it is at no fault of my own, it's still rather depressing. Everything about my post-college career has been depressing. Searching for a job, endlessly, for hours upon hours each day, was awful. People, in their genuine concern, constantly inquired about my current employment situation. "Still nothing," I replied over and over. But finally! something came along. And something that I thought I'd be good at. And even though there were some negative aspects of the job, I regularly reminded myself, all jobs have pros and cons. I highly doubt anyone has ever worked a job wherein they were 100% satisfied with everything. We are humans - it isn't in our nature to want to work.
But here I am. Sitting at home, back to square one. Although I am disappointed, to some extent there is a sense of liberation I'm sure any "fired/laid off/let go" individual feels. I have told myself, this is an opportunity to do those things I could never find the time to do when I was occupied with work. And, you have been needing to examine some changes in your life and this is the time to do it, Corinne! But, I can get to that tomorrow. Today I just need to sit here and be mopey. Before I pick up being forward-minded I need to sit and tend of my feelings of failure.
I am a poser adult
Friday, November 5
In almost every sense of the term I am an "adult." A young adult, this is true. But I have most certainly completed the passage from childhood and the societally-coined "adolescence" into the great phase of adulthood. I have completed college. I am married. I pay bills (well, indirectly. Yet another handy feature of a husband!). I have a pretty-much full-time job. I go to the dentist by myself. I make sure the thermostat stays at an efficient 78 degree during warm days because I am constantly aware of the utilities costs. And I keep a day planner of events occurring 6 months in advance. My deepest, sincerest sixteen-year-old desire to be a big-time adult has crept upon me and become a big-time reality.
And while I fully embrace my becoming a contributing, autonomous citizen of society, I am honest to admit I secretly cling to my childhood. A few weekends ago, while visiting my parents, I took a trip down the hall and into my room to see what items my mother might have left on my bed to take home as yet another subtle hit to start "tearing down camp" (I can only imagine her suppressed excitement to have an empty room to do with as she pleases). Although I usually attempt to conceal my sentiments when visiting my parents as I understand the importance of letting go and moving on, I found myself particularly drawn to memories of my life in that room, that home. And, guiltily, the thought passed through my head, "I don't wanna grow up yet. Rewind! I want to have all other guests go home (yes, including my own husband) and I want to curl up in my own bed with all the safe and familiar surroundings to fall asleep to."
Fleeting as those thoughts were, I couldn't shake the notion that I sometimes wish I were a younger Corinne, eating pizza with my family on Friday nights and worrying about which outfit I was going to wear the next day. Granted, I continue to live a very, very blessed and relatively care-free life. I am so undeservedly showered with abundance: a husband who continues to exceed my expectations, a comfortable and well-furnished apartment, a very enjoyable job, a student loan that has been already completely paid off... all the luxuries an adult could ask for. But there is still a part of me which misses my life with that family in our home as eight- and twelve- and seventeen-year-old Corinne.
So, while I function in the role of "adult" I'm still growing into my new skin. It's a bittersweet transition. But perhaps I don't really ever want to let go of that love and adoration for my childhood...
Alma Mater
Thursday, September 30
I often wonder how to revive a stagnant blog, or whether to revive it at all. Perhaps this stems from my reluctance to fall under some cliche. Like obscure bloggers who apologize to "all" their readers for some leave of absence. Whatever the case, jumping back into blogging is like trying to resurrect Pogs. Perhaps I will once again find the pleasure in those magical cardboard circles. Or maybe I'll remember why I drifted away in the first place.
This has quite possibly been the first time in my life that I did not more distinctly realize the transition from Summer into Fall. I might blame this confusing weather for that. But the true culprit I believe is my absence from school. For the past 16 years I have spent each Fall resuming my life as a student. And although each Fall begins with the fresh excitement that a new school year brings, each Spring brings the longing to be done with school for the Summer. For ever. Summer begins and you tell yourself you'll never put yourself through the torture of another semester.
But I graduated, and now it's Fall, and I most certainly miss school. Last May, as the buzz of graduation grew louder and I anticipated my new life to come I thought I could never again miss the dread of 8 a.m. classes or the headache of mounds of homework or that ever-pressing list of thing to do... that never gets any shorter! And yet, as I scroll through my Facebook news feed and catch up on all the latest whereabouts and adventures of current students, it's almost depressing. I miss the friendships. I miss the feeling of checking something off the never-ending to-do list. I miss the late night runs to In-N-Out or Boba. I miss the studious feeling of a backpack on my shoulder. I miss meals in the cafeteria. And most of all, I miss my roommates. I terribly miss the TV shows we watched together and the plans we made together and the tears we shared together... and even Rachel's stupid, stupid phone alarms (which I heroically endured for 2 years).
I miss all of this more than I ever imagined. Jordan said he went through this the first semester or two after he graduated. And at least I'm fortunate to still be in the same state as all my college friends! He has assured me though that it will get easier as time goes on. I hope he's right. Or he might be funding a few more years of college tuition.
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