when I had my first job.
I was green out of college with an English degree that left me dazed and helpless, staring at a long list of Washington Post career listings that didn't quite seem to apply. I ended up as the executive assistant (translation: b-word number two) of a Washington big-whig, and I was a wreck.
12-hours days of constant multi-tasking and oh-crappity-crap situations arising with every ping in the inbox. It's just not me.
It became me, but it wasn't me. I didn't like the transformation.
I cried when I read the Devil Wears Prada because I related too much. And I cried in front of a sandwich one day because I was too stressed to even do something that would make me feel better. Like eat.
It didn't matter that I flew in a private jet once. I didn't care that Sandra Day O'Connor signed my book. Or that I drank from a $300 bottle of wine. I was too stressed out to care.
Look back through my journal of that year (which you never will, but it serves), and there is entry after entry of variations of this statement. Every part of me is being pounded and molded into something that I don't fit into. And the best parts of me are being stripped away.
When I look back on that year now, I like to think of it as character-building. It pounding off a healthy layer of illusionment. Toughened me up a bit . . . maybe too much. And it taught me one very important thing.
The world doesn't actually end, even when it feels like it's going to.
Fast forward 3 1/2 years.
My Gchat buddies could tell you one thing about me these days, even though I rarely say hi to them. I'm stressed out of my my mind. I cannot actually scream out loud at work. Clearly. So I virtually scream in the little line of text box that Gmail provides me. You know - it's all about the little things.
My poor friends.
I stayed at work until 9:30 on Monday. 10:00 Tuesday. I finally gave up today and left at 7:30 with a pile of work to pick at when I got home . . . only to have a mental mutiny and resolve with defiance that I just wasn't going to do it. The brain needs a break, right? OF COURSE.
On the way to bed at 10:30, I reflected with fear on all of the things that had to get done tomorrow and I flew downstairs and started racing through the pile. It's almost 2:00 AM and I knocked one huge thing off my list. So why am I still awake?
To do something human.
Because writing on a blog is something that normal people with normal, unstressed lives (that allow you to go to the post office so you can buy stamps and actually pay your bills (sorry roommates)) do.
Because letting yourself think with your own thoughts, and not what has been drilled and twisted and configured into work-thoughts, is a pure and precious thing worth capturing.
Because I have cheese and crackers next to me?
I throw this question out into the void - how do you find the balance? How do you mine out that sacred chamber that you can dip into and find peace in the midst of complete and utter crap and chaos?
I'm going to be searching for it these next two days . . . say a prayer that I don't lose it before then.
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2 comments:
" how do you find the balance? How do you mine out that sacred chamber that you can dip into and find peace in the midst of complete and utter crap and chaos? "
Oh my dear friend, I am asking this question too, so frequently. I have very different "crap and choas" than you, but still I feel I am drowning. Many prayers and hugs.
I speak for all of gmail Buzz friends....we love you and don't mind your stress on bit!!
PMA...remember how awesome you are. We all have moments (or hours, days, etc.) where circumstances make us forget it a little. You are fabulous....you KNOW that.....so remember it. Get some sleep. Remember this is almost over....and them you are taking yourself shopping for a new pair of shoes and chocolate!!! ;)
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