52projects and Ikiru

I regularly visit Cynthia Morris’ Original Impulse blog because I love her writing and her coaching. I won a Daily Impulse Writing competition last summer and got the chance to talk to her on the phone for a few complimentary coaching sessions and it was the best experience ever!

Anyway, she’s always discovering interesting websites and passing them along to her audience. Recently, she mentioned www.52projects.com, so I had to investigate.

I’m not sure I support some of the author’s suggestions (like using work time for play time, calling in sick to take advantage of holiday weekends, things like that), but I did like him enough to get his book from the library.

And I did one project last weekend: write down how you feel about your job, all the good things and the bad things. Then watch the Japanese film, Ikiru, and write it down again.

The film was like a train wreck from which you can’t look away. It was horribly Japanese – overly dramatic, drawn-out (almost 3 hours, if I recall correctly), and just weird. But the cinematography was haunting and the point was poignant.

The main character learns that he has stomach cancer and six months to live after wasting thirty years as a city clerk doing just enough to get by, partly because it was all that was expected from his superiors and partly because he had become numb from the low expectations over the years.

When the mothers in the community come to the clerk’s office for help with a sewage problem in their neighborhood, they are given the typical bureaucratic run-around and get stuck in the mire, literally.

In the end, the man decides to forge ahead and do whatever it takes to fix their problem, regardless of the nonsensical bureaucratic loop. He ends up, not only fixing the issue, but building a park for the community children as well.

Loud and clear. We can make a difference. We all have what it takes to rise above status quo and arbitrary rules. Unfortunately, sometimes, it takes knowing we are going to die to start living.

How did I feel before and how do I feel now?

Before: Tedium. Just a couple of IT attitudes. The rudest of the rude cubicle dwellers love me.

After: I could be focusing on what's important to me. I could be helping and initiating more. And I could be doing something more rewarding, more contributory and participatory.

I didn’t need a Japanese movie to tell me that.

A prolonged series of clicks

I pore over the relationships that have dissolved since I moved to Indianapolis five years ago. I realize that I am the common denominator, so I have to look inward to place blame. Maybe I wasn’t nice enough. Maybe I wasn't entertaining enough. Maybe I wasn’t supportive enough. Maybe I was, in fact, around too much. Or maybe I'm just aging and going through changes.

I can’t really find the part of me that is so hard to love, to be around, or even to like. But, with the demise of a long-term relationship each year for the past five years, I sometimes struggle not to feel that I am worth only a click of a telephone.

Five years ago, my father’s wife told me that she would appreciate it if my son (who was twelve at the time) and I didn’t visit as often because we were causing a strain on her relationship with my father. She offered no further explanation and I was unclear on what questions I could have asked. That Thanksgiving, my father’s wife was asked by a friend of mine to chip in on an airline ticket that she, along with four other friends, were surprising me with to fly my son from Memphis to Indianapolis to see our new house (we were broke and temporarily separated due to the move). My father’s wife declined and sent a scathing reply email about how rude it was to even be asked. They have scads of money and the amount requested was $40.

Four years ago, my son and I met my father and his wife at a restaurant for a 90-minute holiday dinner on December 27th. That holiday season, my father’s wife had asked me in email where my son was going for Christmas. I told her he was going to Atlanta with his father and she told my father that he was going to Memphis. I didn’t know about the “miscommunication” until my father mentioned it at dinner, because he had not asked us about any plans. This was the first year I stayed home alone on Christmas. I have to say I kind of enjoyed it.

Three years ago, a ten-year friendship ended. I visited Atlanta for a week-long Christmas holiday and called my friend, who I had talked to regularly but hadn’t seen in three years, to have lunch or dinner. She never called back. I assumed she didn’t get the message and kept trying to reach her. When we finally did connect on the phone, she explained that she had just broken up with her boyfriend (she is fifty years old) and could not stop crying. He would call periodically to check on her and she really needed to be at home in case he wanted to stop by. It hurt my feelings, but I got over it. The next year, I would find out that they were back together and he was married with two small children and, when the wife had found out about them right before Christmas, he had chosen to break off the relationship. But because of her pitiful behavior, they had reconciled and she “was never so happy”. This front-row Christian had total disregard for the family or the children. We broke up when, as a parent, I couldn’t stop myself from expressing my opinion that her age (and history of doing this before) should indicate that she should know better. She hung up. Click.

That same year, my father invited us for Christmas - I thought in an effort to make amends for the year before. He told us to come any day and stay as long as we could. A few days later, his wife emailed to tell me that he must have forgotten, but that they had plans for Christmas. My father called to confirm, and I quote because I will never forget, “I didn’t know. We are going to visit family for Christmas, but you guys could still come after Christmas and stay for a while, if you still can.” I could but I didn’t. One more click would come.

Two years ago, my father called at Christmas (he has impeccable timing for ruining this time of year) to let me know that he had updated his will to include two executors. For years, his will has declared that if his wife survives him, everything goes to her. And then, after she dies, my son and I get a percentage (she has two grown children) of what is left. I only had one question. “Why do you now need two executors for one joint will?” To which he replied, “Look. I don’t think you want to open up that can of worms. She has been nothing but good to you.” I will never understand and my heart screamed in agony. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was DONE.

Click. This leaves me with no family at all, but I will never deal with this relationship again. It was a momentary relief from a life-long injury.

Last year, a ten-year friendship ended with a fizzle. This friend and I had been growing apart for over a year anyway. She had not asked me anything about myself or my life in months. It took a long time, but I did finally get the hint. In our last conversation at Christmas, she didn’t remember several major life events that we had discussed at length earlier that year, including my son getting his driver’s license and getting a car. I knew then that this was to be our last conversation. Click.

And just last week, a twenty-five year friendship ended with my friend hanging up. I have always known that one of the rules for anyone to be in relationship (including her husband) with this friend is to never question or disagree with anything she says or does. I’ve worked around it for years. She and her husband, after years of financial difficulties, are expanding their advertising agency by selling web ad space and award plaques to businesses who are “Rated Best Of” in the city in which they live. I was extremely excited and supportive, until I eventually figured out that there is a catch. They cold call potential customers from a mailing database they purchased online. These businesses aren’t rated at all. When I asked for clarification – thinking I must have something wrong - she said that she was asked that all the time and, at first also thought it was wrong (she is a front-row, Bible thumpin’, self-professed “born-again” Christian) until her husband explained that the advertising business just works this way. “It’s all a scam,” she explained. I asked where the term “false advertising” came from, but she didn’t hear me. She said she had to go and hung up. Twenty-five years. Click.

I know I’m sensitive. And maybe I'm just being pitifully dramatic. I know all human relationships are conditional and they can come and go with changing circumstances. Relationships end. Friendships end. Lots of families suck. Life goes on. We move on. We change. We make new friends who fit us better and stay for the season in which they are needed. Perhaps I made bad choices in the first place. To be honest, I know I would not choose these relationships (especially the one with my father) now, in this season of my life. I'm actually proud of my principles.

But it still hurts. I am sad for the loss and will grieve for a while longer. I know Time will show me what was my fault and what I should have done differently. I hope Time will teach me to be a better friend and to make better choices. I know I will always have a tendency to think myself unworthy, but I hope Time changes that and has new friends for me. In the words of The Rain King: 'cause I've been here before and I do deserve a little more.

This week

Well, anything posted this week feels more insignificant than ever before. My numeroscope promised one of the best weeks of the year. And then, VA Tech happened. My losses last week – a friend to principle, a couple of writing rejections, money to healthier food, etc. – just don’t add up to a hill of beans. All I can do, though, is, like everyone else, pray for the families who, while never making sense of it, can hopefully find gratitude and comfort in the time they had with their children.

It’s prom week in our house. It doesn’t have the same connotation when it’s your SON’s prom, though. I don’t really get to do much. I was asked for my advice about corsage flowers and I did get to pick up some fancy dress socks at Wal-Mart while I was buying Lipton Green Tea and dog food. But when I proudly presented them for the cause, I was told that a complimentary pair was given with the tux rental. Hmmmph. Unnecessary again.

It actually has been a positive week and included a call about a new project from a company for whom I did some work last year (teaching me to never delete anything again) and a call from the perfect friend who sounded happy and loved, whether she likes to talk about it or not. I also have no writing rejections to report, but that's only because I have no writing submissions to report either. Note to self: suck it up and get back in the game.

No Sunflower

I am no sunflower this week. I’ve been mad and sad all week. No real explanation or maybe too many explanations.

  • Yesterday, I paid 69 cents for a cucumber and $1.15 for a red onion at the grocery store. Both were pre-tax amounts. What is wrong with this world?
  • Every day, I pray a multitude of gratitude prayers asking God to help me deal with one woman who sits near me at my day job and makes eight full (no exaggeration) hours of personal phone calls every single stinking day and another woman nearby who coughs non-stop (again, no exaggeration) every single stinking day. My prayers remain unanswered.
  • I think I’ve learned that one of my best friends is doing something questionable which concerns me, but about which I’m scared to say anything, because she’s quick to rile and because more than one of my past friendships have ended on principle (mine).
  • At a funny and interesting lecture/event last night, a woman behind me snored for about fifteen minutes. Another woman in front of me repeatedly cracked her knuckles throughout the whole evening.
  • A new season of The Deadliest Catch started with drownings. It reminded me of a guy named Steve Hall of Rome, Georgia, whose blatant negligence on a kayaking trip caused two 15-year-old boys to drown two years ago. I guess it still haunts me because those boys were my son’s age, and because two days after the boys were found dead in the ocean, Mr. Hall was, according to the local newspaper, “having fun” coaching his school’s soccer team. But I digress.
  • The owner of the company I sub-contract through on my day job emailed about a possible mid-contract cut in pay. The jury’s still out on this one.
  • I had two writing submissions rejected last week, one of which really stung.
  • And I received neither emails nor phone calls from anyone who might care about any of the above.

Yes, too many explanations. Maybe next week will be better. I hope so! Hope. There it is.

The Last Week of Lobsterfest

The best way I’ve found to pin my son down alone for an hour or so is to make sure he and I meet for dinner somewhere once a month. I had been unsuccessful convincing him to go anywhere with me this week for Spring break, because, come to find out, most of his friends were staying in town. His social schedule was especially packed, but I managed to at least guilt him into our monthly dinner Wednesday.

(And next year, if I have to drug him, we’re going somewhere for his Senior Spring break. I am pretty well known for picking places and times that include some sort of festival. For example, this year I had tried to sell a visit to Washington, DC, which would have coincided with their Cherry Blossom Festival. This would have been fine two years ago, but not now. In a thoughtless moment, I mentioned the Festival and all bets were off. “You want me to do what?” I’m convinced that just the word is the deal breaker, not the week with the mother, so I’ll have to consider that in our plans. Or just use a different word.)

Anyway, Austin loves Red Lobster, so that’s where we went. And, as luck would have it, when we sat down, the waitress handed us our menus and singsonged, “It’s the last week of Lobsterfest! Order it while you can!”

A festival, after all. I win again. He was unaware and didn’t laugh when I explained what I was smiling about.

Then I thought of the time, years ago, when a cashier at Burger King told my ex-husband that they were out of Whoppers. The proclaimed Home of the Whopper was out of Whoppers? And now, Red LOBSTER won’t have LOBSTER? I swear - the longer I live, the more confused I get. What will replace it? Talapiafest? I’m betting it’s Shrimpfest, but I like the sound of a Talapiafest.

The marketing worked, because the frenzy was upon us. The last week! Now, I do know that Red Lobster doesn’t catch its fish from the same part of the ocean as the finer seafood restaurants, but I had no choice – we would order lobster. The $62 bill to come, after dinner, drinks, tips and taxes, was a small price to pay for such an occasion anyway. It was a festival, after all.

We try to eat before 5 pm here in Indianapolis, because of my disdain for crowded restaurants and people with unruly toddlers who should eat at home. This early dinnertime typically puts us in the respectful company of seniors and lone or coupled diners, with whom I love to be.

And this time, I noticed three women around us, each sitting alone. No books to read, no restless eye movements from not knowing where to look, no hurries. They were content and comfortable, just sipping their drinks and savoring their meals.

I mentioned that I wanted to be just like them. Austin assured me, “Oh, you will be. Don’t worry.” I took that as the complement it wasn’t meant to be.

So, $62 and an average seafood meal later, I had been comforted by my son’s company, these women, and the fact that we hadn’t missed the “fest” after all.

I got to go home and think of my future trip alone to the Smithsonian and the Cherry Blossom Festival. And, I plan to enjoy dining alone, thinking of the ladies at Red Lobster.

Austin got to leave and go hang out with his friends for yet another night.

A nice Spring break was had by all.