Category: Making Plans

Slow Small Steps

That’s what I’m doing, slow small steps out of the madness I pushed myself into. I’ve been writing, but just in my journal. I can say anything I want in my journal; no one is listening. It’s the only true place where I can open a vein and allow the words to flow out with the pain. The writing there is a pressure bandage on the gushing self-inflicted wounds I’ve made. Yet to truly stem the flow I need to make plans. Real plans. I’ve found opening my heart here helps me form the lumps of ideas into a solid sculpture; something I can work with and towards.

My last blog “Humpty Dumpty was Pushed!” I talked about needing to go back to basics. Journaling. {check}. Chilling {check}. Blogging { }. That’s where I am today. Where chilling has been mostly watching TV/Movies and Miss Fisher (I don’t know why but the show is the best at relieving me of my need for reality for a short time). As things have quickly changed I’ve changed my to-do list as well….

Murphy’s Law popped up and ripped the rug out from underneath me with the news I had to close down my site and work at the other one in the same town. Not a horrific thing, I’m still employed and it’s only temporary, but it’s a new site, new people (not absolutely new, I’ve worked with the other two at different times). Today was the first day in the new work environment. It’s not horrible. I still get lost, it’s like four times larger than my site and there are two room dedicated to just employee space. Quite posh for a PSC. (Patient Service Center). I still turn into the wrong room for processing and I always go the wrong way to find the employee bathroom. But it is just the first day. Knowing this would be a challenge I spent the weekend trying to put my life (room) in order. I didn’t get it all the way there but enough so I can try and do a little bit every day to keep it neat and orderly. I don’t need orderly, per se, but it is nice to find what you’re looking for or having a nice clean space to write it when the urge hits. So, that’s the other small step out of madness: Making space for healing.

The writing…

The writing still scares me. I hate how pathetic that looks on the screen. Something I love, something I feel defines who I am and what I’m suppose to be doing with my life scares me. Even still, my brain is simmering the storyline in the back of my brain as a way to keep the aroma wafting in the air to call me back to the page with intriguing turns in the plot….but I just can’t do it. It’s too soon. I was hoping to do something this weekend, but instead I cleaned. I work next weekend and I’ve made plans with my niece for The Renaissance Faire for the 14th. Again, a way to chill and allow the pieces to come back together and solidify to bear the weight of my working again. So, in essence, I won’t be ready to present anything to anyone by the following weekend. And, as badly as I wanted it a few weeks ago, I think I’m okay with that. I’m not beating myself up about it, or berating myself…I’m just taking care of myself. Maybe the next time I push myself off the wall I will only crack, and the time after that I should have enough epoxy on my soul to bounce and laugh it off like a whole person.

Humpty Dumpty Was Pushed!

…and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men didn’t want to put Humpty back together again.

I’m not Ms. Dumpty, but I pushed myself over the edge…again. And now I’m AGAIN trying to put myself back together. I want to be put back together again because the heights I reached when I was whole was GLORIOUS. I’m sorry you we’re along for the ride, but as I explained in One Ball Juggler I can only really do one thing at a time without completely overwhelming myself. So, I’ve been working five to six days a week as a vampyre and spending my off days writing for five to seven hours at a stretch. The week I took off for my birthday in July I finished the first draft of my second-go-round of a book I’m breaking into three parts. I jumped straight into editing.

I hate editing. It’s a journey into everything that’s wrong with your writing, with you, and it screams why you shouldn’t be a writer. Amazingly it went smoothly and I was proud of the finished product. During this time I was aware I was feeling unnaturally drained, loss of appetite and wanting to crawl into bed long before the sun goes down. So I ignored it and pushed past it, like I used to do because this was more important. I would go to my room and sit at my desk, give myself an hour to do some more editing, and push beyond the hour and then try to turn off the chatter of the people in my head trying to explain to me how I can better present them on the page. (I know it sounds crazy to a non-writer but the fiction writers out there are just nodding their heads). The task was to just edit on my lunch hour but I kept pushing for more and more to get done.

I got time off work in October to attend a writing/media conference where I want to make some contacts (Maybe meet someone special: an agent!) so I’ve been trying to get the second pink edits done. This round is editing the edits and approving the edits before I actually make the edits in the computer. The goal was to have the lavender edits done before the end of October. (Pink and Lavender are just the color of paper I print on to keep track of where I am in the process) Every night I would go to sleep reminding myself that I only had X amount of weeks to have this done then calm myself with sweet words of “It’s plenty of time. You can do it.”. I was excited by the challenge and so proud of myself for getting so much done so quickly.

Then life happened.

Before I could manage the stimulus I tripped over old habits and I was crying in fear and rage and I think disappointment in myself. Physical manifestations of anxiety began to run roughshod over my emotional state; palpitations, shortness of breath, sleeplessness. Walking from the bathroom to my bed (maybe 10 steps total) felt like I did in PE class when I had to run the mile for the first time. I was overcome with the fear I was dying but I was too afraid to do anything about it, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to alert anyone in the family of what was going on. I went to work because I thought if I ignored it it would go away and it did when we were busy, but it always came back. I asked to leave early and I talked to a doctor in my car, he agreed it was probably anxiety but suggested to keep a low threshold and go into urgent care if it doesn’t subside in a reasonable amount of time with a reasonable amount of medication. I told my family I was sick, they assumed it was gastro-intestinal which wasn’t far off because anxiety viciously works both ends in my life.

Luckily, I had therapy scheduled for that evening. We worked through the anger I was feeling, the fulcrum which catapulted me off the wall. I felt better emotionally and not horrible about my choices to protect myself. I felt safe again. Physically I was still dealing with the palpitations, shallow breathing and a rapid heart rate. I did more deep breathing before I went to sleep and slept fairly well thanks to the wonders of pharmacology. In the morning my Oura Ring told me my resting heart rate was 123 which wasn’t good. (It’s back down to it’s normal mid-50’s)

Deep breathing has healed a lot and has allowed me to rebuild my center. Pulling back on my mad-dash to get my book done before the end of October has been painful yet when I sit to work on it I feel like I’m trying to stuff myself into a box where I can’t breathe. What editing I have done has been, dare I say, revolutionary and changing some of the tone of the story. I respect the voices that are showing up on paper.

In the clear light of rationality I realize I broke on some of the old mended cracks, pieces that might not have had enough E6000 to weld them together, so I am going slowly and not pushing myself. I need to get back to the other things in life which were left behind in my pursuit of publication; journaling, blogging and just chilling. I’ve not picked up my journal since my birthday. Journaling and blogging has often been the alert bell when the cogs and wheels of my inner-workings are in need of a little oil or TLC. I’m back scheduling journaling, blogging and looking forward to Sunday drives and playing with my parrot. Writing to publication is my raison d’être it can’t be all there is to my life.

Another Spare

My mother used to joke when people asked how many daughters she had and she would laughingly reply “A pair and a spare,”.  I didn’t realize how she really saw us until later on in life when the spare had to take care of her.  She  wanted, and invested in, the pair with full rights to demand care when she could no longer care for herself, or when she was just tired of taking care of herself (We’ll never know which).  Both my sisters, twins, knew how to cook, knew how to clean, had practice with their own children on how to change diapers and how to take care of another human being.  I can barely take care of myself even now and I’ve been practicing.  I prefered to write or craft rather than clean house, sue me.

I just finish listening to Spare by Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex.  I appreciated his experiences with depression and anxiety and felt a kinship with the rage that accompanied his depression which he called “the red mist”.  Though he was allowed to wallop his brother and friends to get it out of his system, a perk of not  having any proper parental supervision and being a boy, he described the pain of it very succinctly.  Though each journey through depression is unique to each individual it’s nice to know you aren’t alone in the void.

We are reading/listening to the book for the Aunt/Niece book club.  The chapters read like blog posts, chronologically from the death of his remarkable mother to the present.  I know the book was about his coming to terms with the unnecessary and tragic death of his mother, the lethal abuse of the tabloid press, the absolute narcisism of his father, his service, his stumbles in the public eye, the rank racism towards his wife and children and ending with his separation from the institutionalized dysfunction of his family.  That was the point of the autobiography; to take control of his own narrative and his own life. I guess, on a microscopic scale that’s what I’m doing here as well.

I pulled a different meaning from the whole of the book.  I saw it as his fight and flight from the void, almost completely on his own.  But more important, discovering the happiness to be had in the light.   He reached a point in his recovery when he realized  he had progressed beyond the constraints of the little bubble universe the family and the tabloids created for him.  I’m still occadionally bumping my head on the constraints my up-bringing (such as it was) put on me.  Writing here has helped me push my mental and emotional boundaries to realize I am the master of my own mind/life/soul.  Like Harry, I understand the need to move far away from the funk in the my dysfunctional family because I’m afraid I will go back to where I was.   That is not a crack at my family in any way. We are all on different paths now, nolonger slaved to the one our mother picked. I like the path I’m on but it’s new and it’s scary and it would be so easy to go backwards and be, instead of moving on my chosen path to becoming.

The book as a whole is an interesting, albeit asingle hyperfocused view of the monarchy. He is very respectful to the Queen yet didn’t exclude her from the spotlight of dysfunction either. He owned up to the things he had done wrong, the few things the news outlets got right and how he is working to move forward in his life. I appreciated his honesty. If you are an anglophile you should enjoy it.

Back to the Work

Taking the time off from working on what needs still to be done in my head was an excellent idea. I didn’t realize you can take a break from things like that. Well, I guess you can stop anything, even if it’s good for you, but the dedicated unceasing work is what has gotten me so far so fast. (Fast by the world’s standards, it’s been a long slog from where I’m sitting). But now, it’s back to the work. From the start of December I’ve been distracting myself with books I’ve listened to before (Harry Potter, Elantris, 14, Dragons Blood Omnibus), shopping and, of course, eating. It’s no longer and option to let my brain stand still with old stories, spending money I don’t have and eating myself into a coma. Standing still is a mixed blessing though. About 23 years ago I walked the Honolulu Marathon, and in a lot of ways getting my life back has been akin to that long hot day in December 2000. I did fine until mile 16 or so and then it felt like I was walking through amber. I kept putting one foot in front of the other then something in my brain snapped and said it was never going to end, I was never going to survive and I might as well give up now. That’s when I pulled out the Extra Strength Gu Gel with double the caffeine and choked it down with a few sips of water. I finished: I have the shirt and the medal to prove it too. So, instead of doing the Gu Gel at this 16 mile marker in my emotional marathon I did more of a rest and now I know why I didn’t rest in 2000….I wouldn’t have wanted to go back to it.

I have therapy on the 17th, so I’ll make that my official back-to-the-work day. I bought the physical book of Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown so I can use it as a text book and make my own notes and how I want to apply his lessons. I got it with another book called Deep Work by Cal Newport in a packaged deal from Amazon. I’ve started my writing again, I get up at the same time (4:30ish) on the Saturday I have off during the month and write for about five hours and I try to do basic edit or input edits in the evening or on Sunday. It works, but if I can get more work done in the same space of time then I will. It too is a physical book but I might splurge and get the audio book as well so I can listen to it on my way into work during the week. From those books I want to write my New Years Goals so I can break them down into S.M.A.R.T. goals for monthly direction. But again, I need to get back to the work!

Though the work was at rest my mind was still aware of what I was doing right and very aware of what I was doing wrong. My eating spiraled a little more than usual but not to pre-apocalyptic levels which is good, but it was more out of control then my normal stress-eating. I couldn’t get full no matter how much I ate and I couldn’t easily talk myself out of buying the extra bag of oreos no matter how hard I tried. As I explained in An Act of Christmas I need to stay true to my ideal of Christmas and be more productive in doing what I can do to help in the world. Next Christmas will be more of what I want and need it to be by starting this month toward my Act of Christmas 2023. With the new year I feel calmer and more in control. The two packages of oreos remain on my shelf unopened on top of an unopened box of Godiva chocolate a patient gave me for Christmas. It could be I’ve just been too tired to walk the 20 feet to the shelf to get them but I’m counting it as a win. I’m cringing now at the money I spent on me over the last month but I feel it was for things I needed and wanted and not spending money I didn’t have on online police auctions every time my mother irritated me. I think what I’m trying to convey is that I’m better, but I’m not at the finish line. The work yet to be done, the deeper work I’ve been dreading are the big boxes in my dream from 22 July 2022 Dream a Little Dream my closing statement was, mostly pertaining to the boxes still on the shelf:

…(bravely confront the past injuries, resolve the confusion, and end the subconscious suffering to move forward).

Dream a Little Dream, Bloggingfromthevoid.com

I’ve identified the anger at my sisters is more of the anger of the child I abandoned (me) in trying to protect myself growing up. I’m not sure if that makes any sense, but the anger I feel toward my sisters feels immature and the fire from that anger too hot and plentiful to be that simplistic. I’ve started listening to the book by Thich Nhat Hanh Reconciliation instead of reading his Anger book because this realization of where the anger was coming from became apparent and more urgent as I was reading the book on Anger. In Dream a Little Dream I talked about how the boxes were things I didn’t want to deal with and still I don’t want to deal with . As my history of stuffing things I don’t want to deal with in boxes and paying an immoderate storage fee attests, I’m really good at avoiding things. The need to get passed the anger, the need to feel at peace with myself is starting to outweigh the need to just keep the abandoned child placated with cookies and chocolate. I’ve named her Little Dragon because of the fire she evokes and she is going to be my priority going forward for this year. Her and getting the first book of three ready to submit to a publisher. That’s not expecting too much of myself, is it? {sigh}

Massaging The Asset

One of the points in Essentialism by Greg McKeown is Protecting the Asset. The asset being the Essentialist. I don’t know if I have declared it publically, but I am trying to be an essentialist. Protecting the asset is pretty much what it sounds like….I am the asset and I need to protect me. This isn’t the setting-boundaries-with-people-who-want-to-hurt-me-emotionally protecting but protecting myself from entropy in life to keep me working towards my goal. Essentially, I need to sleep regularly and for a set amount of time. I need to eat right and drink water. I need to keep my finances in check so I can have the time I want to write. And {sigh} I need exercise to stay strong to sit for hours at a time to work.

I joined Planet Fitness because their monthly rate works out to be the reimbursement my company provides for a gym membership…..and this is the Black Card Membership where they have massage chairs, hydro-tables and and infrared light booth that the teen-ager behind the counter told me will help remove wrinkles. I’m more interested in these benefits…

Infrared therapy has many roles in the human body. These include detoxification, pain relief, reduction of muscle tension, relaxation, improved circulation, weight loss, skin purification, lowered side effects of diabetes, boosting of the immune system and lowering of blood pressure.

http://www.news-medical.net

To be perfectly honest though, I said yes to the massage chairs and the hydro-table. Never heard of a hydro-table before but now I don’t think I can live without it. I signed up last weekend, took a tour of the facility on Tuesday and gave them both a whirl. The hydro-table is like having your back turned to a warm water firehose (you can adjust the pressure and speed) running up and down your back. It kneads and relaxes with the heat. The only downside is you have to get up after 10 minutes to tell the kids at the front desk to flip the switch again. The massage chair found knots in my shoulder and neck I didn’t even know I had! I have one in the middle of my right scapula which I tied up by working in a non-ergonomic position to finish my birthday jacket. I noticed last night was the first night I didn’t wake up with the gnawing pain in the middle of my back pushing it’s way through to my front. I’m hoping to have the other bumps the massager found gone within a reasonable amount of time as well. I spent 45 minutes there today doing both twice. This time having the hydro and heat soften up my muscles and then letting the chair knead the knots out. I’m hoping a faster relaxation for bed tonight.

I’ve actively chosen to not listen to the evil pixie in the back of my head telling me I’m not worth it, I’m wasting money, and I’m just going to be a dumpy gray-haired wanna-be for the rest of my life. I think ignoring that is part of protecting the asset too. Not believing all the people, pixies and statistics telling me I’m not going to succeed as a writer is going to be the metaphorical armor I’m going to have to wear for a while until I can massage my ego up from the depths of my psyche to essentially stand in the light with me and my convictions.

Warped

‘Tis the season of giving thanks and showing thanks and making at cheery and bright. Grosgrain ribbon is a popular adornment of the season because it cuts so cleanly. One of my favorite things to do is to pull at one of the small ends and pull until the weft is loosed and the warp is freed from it’s interwoven supports. Eventually the weft snags and the whole construct is lost and there is a snarl of ribbon left to be thrown away with the ripped paper. This time though, I’m not the one pulling the uneven thread and I feel powerless to stop fate from tugging at the carefully woven ribbon until nothing is left but the warp.

It has to be the season plucking at my anxiety strings. My thoughts blink from one dire situation to another. For example….I am sure I can keep my job if I just keep working yet I’m still terrified they are going to find out I’m a fraud and fire me. I’m making plans, deeply committed plans for my future, and I’m terrified I’m going to sprout a tumor or die just on the cusp of realizing my life’s ambition. What if Sammy dies? My control over what I can control is spiralling again, though I’m not binging at pre-apocalyptic proportions, I’m eating more of what I shouldn’t than I should. I’m forcing myself to eat because I’d rather just not. I want to just go to bed and stay in bed and be done with it.

I’m not that person any more, and I know it. Yes, anxiety still plucks at my strings trying to create a soothing melody for me to stay abed but the melody is discordant to me now and is more like scratching on a chalkboard, but it’s still there trying. Trying just as hard as I am not to give in, but it offers chocolate, and I succumb. I don’t know where I am in the unraveling process, at the begging, the even free flowing warp or the snarl of disposable threads of what is left. Wait, I just realized, I’m not the ribbon in this metaphor, it’s a part of the package, but it’s not all of me. I am the gift, wrapped in God’s love and support and even when anxiety tries to snarl my decorations I have confidence in me and in Him that even through the most stressful season of the year (in a year of stressful seasons) the whole of me won’t be warped, maybe just frayed around the edges for a short season.

Mixed Messages

Last Thursday I was told by my sister that she and my other sister believe my goals to move out of state were just “a pipe dream and were never going to happen”. It cut deeply. I thought they finally had my back now that Mom was out of the middle stirring up conflict. I thought I finally wasn’t alone and I finally had my sisters back. This betrayal made me doubt if I would be able to achieve my goals. If I would ever be stable enough to get my own place, ie buy a house somewhere, and live a life by my standards, rules and means. If they don’t have faith in me, how can I have faith in me? I spent the evening fighting those thoughts and tears of anger while I tried to be productive as an essentialist.

After my shower I found someone had slid a package under my door. I had been expecting fountain pens in the mail and completely forgot about the tin signs I had ordered weeks ago.

These images are now on my mirror in the bathroom so I can see them every day to remind me of my potential and my strength.

The best message came today during prayer. I asked if He believed in my goals and the warmth and hope radiating from my heart brought tears to my eyes. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. And I will.

Essential Goals

It’s a new month which means it GOAL TIME again. I’m stymied. I write S.M.A.R.T. goals. And I’ve been very good about writing a set of goals that cover EVERYTHING I have an interest in. I write my goals with the same maxim my Mom used for selling mobile homes: If you throw enough crap on the wall, eventually something will stick. And, I guess in a purely numbers game, it’s not a bad practice. My goals aren’t numbers and the purpose of them is to propel me towards the ultimate goals in my life. Instead, I’ve filled my life with busy work so I can avoid the one thing I’ve always wanted since I was 11: To Be a Published Author!

Ellen suggested I read (listen) to a book called Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown. So, I started listening on my way into work. I’m generally to tired and/or brain dead to listen to anything other than fluff on the way home otherwise I’d be done by now. He coaches leaders and management teams in the reality most management staff enthusiastically ignores: Everything is NOT important. Companies and people try to do everything for everyone and fail in providing anything of true value to anyone. His example was we try to go a millimeter in every direction instead of marshalling our energies to go in one direction where we can truly make a difference in our lives, our families and the world. That description summed up my goals perfectly. I was trying to achieve a little bit in financial goals, in spiritual goals, work goals, writing goals, family goals, health goals…..and on and on and on and on….and never really getting anywhere.

This book has come into my life at a very important time. I am no longer trying to dig myself out of the crap-hole I was in before and directly after the apocalypse. I am actively looking for a template, a concept or a philosophy to destroy the stumbling blocks of my past so I can build a strong foundation for my new life. The one blessing to be had beyond surviving the abuse and major depression is to to design and write my life the way I want it to be. I’m replacing the old psychological tapes with bright shiny CD’s of brave self-talk and I’m making the choices instead of letting the choices make me. I am scared witless, (honestly, when am I not?), but Mr. McKeown is helping me see through the fog of fear right now.

My journal entry on Saturday narrowed down the top goal, the only real goal I’ve had my whole life: To be a published author. All of my goals before had a writing component to it, but it also had spirituality, financial, educational, work, health and Misc. section where I was pushing through the whole year to mark off boxes on an annual To Do list instead of moving forward in one purposeful direction. I’m not saying spirituality, financial stability, health and education aren’t important I’m saying they are no longer on par with the ONE goal. There is a component of each of those ancillary goals in the larger one but time is finite and my share of it not committed to work and commute is even smaller.

I haven’t finished the book yet. I’m hoping he tells me there is an app that opens up when I try to enter a task or appointment and asks “Is this going to help you to be where you want to be in 5 years?” (The current goal is to be published in 5 years) so I don’t just willy-nilly say yes to someone/something that really won’t push me along the path I want to be on. I’ve made some decisions though. I’m not going to do my Christmas project like I did last year. I wanted to do hats and scarves for the homeless, or send them off to the refugees of Ukraine but I need to be writing. I will still crochet because it helps me when I need to work through a knot in a plot or I just need quiet time to let things ferment before I write. If I get some hats and scarves together before Christmas I will find homes for them but the “project” part has been abandoned. I feel bad, like I’m a bad person for choosing my goals over charity, and honestly, as I’m writing this I’m still questioning it. Another example McKeon made was a quote of a friend of his. “If it’s not a Hell Ya! it’s a no.” The project isn’t a Hell ya! Then again, exercise isn’t a Hell Ya! either but I have to do it anyway, both for health and to grow my stamina to write. I wonder how Mr. McKeown would advise me on that?

More to follow…..

Now, off to the goals…….

One Ball Juggler

A statement I made in my last blog Competent Confidence has been bothering me since I published it. “…I’ve learned in the post apocalypse, I can’t handle more than one challenge on my plate at one time.” There was a time when I was actively involved in church, working more than full time, volunteering for The Greater Bay Area Make-A-Wish Foundation, and chaired and coordinated the Wish Children’s Holiday party for several years. Not to mention writing with abandon. I was an avid Franklin Day Planner enthusiast, which is how I kept my life straight….mostly. I hoped the plasticity of my life would come back to me over time but it hasn’t. I’m not really expecting my life to spring back to my pre-caregiver days because 1) A lot of the frenzied activity I participated in was to prove to myself and other people I was a good person and 2) I’m older and a little wiser now.

I want to write. I want to re-engage in the world. I want to get my “gig” going to supplement my income to help me reach my financial goals. I keep having false starts on all of it. I am proud of the fact my website is up, pamelagartner.com, but I’ve not gone any further on that. I want to write everyday either my current novels, my journal or my blogs. So far, blogging here is the only consistent writing I’ve been doing and honestly, this is just opening a vein and letting it flow. To be a single, self-employed writer, by necessity, you have to be able to keep two balls in the air at one time. When you have your body breaking down and betraying you, you need to work-out, plan meals and eat right. (ball three) To be a member of any sub-set of the whole of society you have to be willing to go out, engage in activities, make friends and be a part of it all. (ball four) I am blessed with a truck-load of friends and family so, maybe a cadre of acquaintances and new experiences will be sufficient. However, I still need to do the basics for that.

My writing has always been the most important thing to me since I was eleven. I’ve always wanted to be a published author. I used to write (pen and paper) every chance I got. I used to carry a 5 subject notebook around with my school books and I wrote instead of taking notes in class or studying in the library. Later, I carried 5.5″x8.5″ paper in my Franklin to write when I was bored in meetings or on a long lunch. I loved the freedom. I’ve gotten so keyboard-bound the idea of handwriting now seems laborious and a waste of time so I’ve abandoned the practice. My imagination and desire to write has come back to me now the stressors in life are receding, and like a petulant child, the muse wants my undivided attention…NOW! This unrelenting presence in my head makes me frustrated with everything I do because I’m not writing. I try not to let my projects distract me while I work because I can’t stop in the middle of a blood draw or accessioning someone into the system to write down an idea, line of dialogue, or plot twist before it’s gone. This makes it doubly hard for when I get home because it takes time to get the muse to answer your calls when you’ve ignored her all day.

As I’ve been writing this I realize I’m expecting too much of myself, again. It’ll be five years this December since the apocalypse happened. When that life consuming, ginormous snow-ball of a task was finally taken out of the juggling rotation and I started to rebuild my life I expected things to spring back to what was my normal. It hasn’t. At times in the past half-decade I was gifted with time to re-write my last novel twice during the 18 weeks of convalescence of breaking my foot and then the three months of pandemic confinement. It was the only ball I had to keep in the air. During those times I was living my authentic self, and I LOVED IT.

My broken brain has conflated the idea I did all the writing while working full-time; successfully keeping both balls in the air, and berating me for not doing it now. I need to be happy I am able to keep the working-full-time-ball in the air without losing it. Putting pressure on me to get all the balls up in the air again and gracefully moving in artistic patterns and mesmerizing circles is only going to distract me from the one ball I have successfully flying now. Juggling is all about timing and stamina. As much as I need it, as much as the little demanding muse wants it, the timing just isn’t right for more than one ball until I am stronger to handle a second. Dangit.

Competent Confidence

A hundred years ago I used to (try to) sell mobile homes, or the proper term is Manufactured Houses. These weren’t trailers and none of them could be hooked up to the back of a truck and moved in the dead of night to skip out on space rent. When I started in the business the licensure was a step above used-car salesman. I worked at a now defunct firm in Santa Clara called Roney and Associates where the broker was ga-ga over a real estate sales guru called Tommy Hopkins. He was big in the business at the time and he did seminars, boot camps in Scottsdale AZ and sold all sorts of books and cassette taped lectures. Though he was an accomplished real estate salesperson, he made his hard core money selling his classes, books, boot camps and cassette tapes. My mother internalized a lot of it as a professional way to manipulate the family. Her mistake was to let my sister C and I listen to the tapes and we could hear the “close” coming and realize we were being played. I bring him up because one portion of a lesson has always stuck with me…

The Stages of Competence

Stage 1: Unconscious INCOMPETENCE

This is a euphoric state when you realize everyone around you is floundering and you’re sailing through. All the square blocks are effortlessly falling into the really large round holes but you’re too pleased with yourself to notice. You keep plugging along because it’s working and you aren’t sweating it.

Stage 2: Conscious Incompetence

Suddenly the euphoria erupts into chaos. The round holes are smaller and the square blocks were actually pyramid shaped and they HAVE to go sideways into the only visible hole in front of you. You throw your hands up and scream to the heavens but you don’t quit because you know you can and will get it…..maybe……someday…..if they don’t fire you first. I will have to say, at this stage it never occured to me I could go back to my old job. Like I said before, the benefits are just too good to leave. So, the only thing to do is remember all the kind encouragement, barked instructions and training and keep pushing toward stage 3.

Stage 3: Conscious Competence

I think I hit this stage today. Our float to help out didn’t make it, probably had to cover for someone who didn’t make it to their site. It was steady and I wasn’t overwhelmed by a throng of patients. Luckily. I found myself pausing when stressed and taking a deep breath and (I hate to admit it but…) the trainer from Training Is Fun-Da-Mental‘s advise of highlighting everything (even though it eats into the wait time) is helping me catch things like stool samples that also read as blood, duplicate orders and other things I’M SUPPOSED TO BE CATCHING but generally don’t. We’ll see how well this works when it’s busy tomorrow, especially if I’m alone at the desk but it was nice to evaluate myself today as not drowning at the front desk for the first time EVER.

Stage 4: Unconscious Competence

The hithertofore yet to be obtained stage for my work at the front desk and in the lab.

This is the goal.

This is the ultimate of ultimates.

I know once I subdue the beasty known as the front desk my next battle royale will be the lab. I’m doing okay, I have help if I have any questions, but I need to go faster. But I’m not beating myself up about it because I’ve learned in the post apocalypse, I can’t handle more than one challenge on my plate at one time. It stymies me into inaction which doesn’t help anyone…..especially me. So, for the front desk, I’m hoping by the end of this month or the middle of next I will have a handle on it and the aforementioned trainer won’t have too much of a need to bark instructions at me from over my shoulder. The lab is just a matter of accurate speed. Speed is a matter of muscle memory. Muscle memory in a body which feels like it’s wrapped in dementia most of the time is the hurdle I need to clear. But that, my dear reader, is a blog for another day…..soon.