Seek and Ye Shall Find

I have a very wonderful story to tell, but it is a long, long one. We'll see how this rolls out; it might be in installments.

I've been working my way into a crisis of faith for about two or three years now. When I made the decision to make some big changes, I knew that finding my own answers was probably the most important thing I needed to do. This is the story about the beginning of my journey back. It's not a preachy story. I've never had scripture speak to me, so I won't be spouting any. There will be no hellfire and there will be no brimstone.

Let's start here ...About a month and a half ago, I take two of my employees to a Chamber luncheon. The speaker was Jodee Bock, whom I would go see read a can of Lysol. Just being in the same room with her is uplifting.

Today, she's working almost extemporaneously on a subject she had just started offering, "Are You A Fire Fighter or a Fire Starter? Ideas for Bringing the Spark to Work."

So we're sitting and Jodee’s talking and I'm getting comfy and while I'm listening, I'm trying to keep an eye on "the kids". Now, I should tell you the reason I took these guys with me was to demonstrate to them that the organization feels their presence at our agency is one in which we see a leadership future. Their potential to grow into movers and shakers is staggering, so I'm introducing them to the non-workslug part of the game.

Jodee is talking and she says something that makes me scoff, but I notice the other two scribble down as if the Holy Grail was being passed to them. "Live with intention!," Jodee proclaims, "ask yourself why you're doing something ... examine your intention. Examine your intention globally; in every part of your life. Why are you doing what you're doing?" Uh-huh. Whatever.

But then she says something that grabs me, "Look at your feet. What direction are your toes pointed? Now look up; that is the direction you're headed."

I get an instantaneous and very powerful image of myself cruising through my own life, looking in every direction, but never, ever forward. To the side, behind me ... hell, I'd crane my neck to see what I may have missed behind me... just never forward. Why would I do that? The way I'd been living, nay ... the way I'd been sitting back like a passenger in my own life ... well, whatever was ahead of my was bound to be scary. Let's not get crazy, people. Looking forward, indeed!

But then Jodee said, "Now turn your toes just a few degrees." My head pops up as I zero back in on Jodee's words. "Viola!" she says, "a new direction and a new destination!" Hmmm ... very interesting ...

So we head back to work, the kids and I, and I'm all excited to talk about the direction my toes are pointed. They had other ideas.

them: "so why did you snort when she was talking about intention?"
I: "did not."
them: "totally did. how come?"
I: "because it doesn't apply."
them: "you're kidding. of course it does."
I: "does not. we already live with intention in every way conceivable simply because we're human beings. we don't have the choice to be without choice and therefore intent ... intent is the flesh of our souls."
them: "you should think about it more."
I: "humph."

Now mind you, these are my employees. They do what I say and when I say. And if I don't like what they do, they do it again. They are mine 40+ hours a week. And now they deign to think themselves experts on my life? As if!

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day thinking about it, and when my 4:00pm appointment called to say the doctor had stomach flu and would I like to reschedule, I said you bet and left work anyway.I knew what needed to be done.

I'd already taken the big step and told Spartacus we were done. Now I needed to do something for me. Something that scared the ever living poop out of me.

I headed to the gym.

Now, let's stop to consider that I am a 235lb woman with a serious knack for acting like it doesn't bother me. (I am lying. It does bother me, and it's more like 239.)

So I park my truck and stride on in, smoothly greeting the woman at the front desk by name.

Noting my quick reading of her nametag and willingness to use her name like we’re best friends, she sums me up in about 5 seconds flat. Her expression changes, but just a tiny bit. I know I'm up against someone as smart or smarter than me. Shit.

There's something you should know about me to demonstate how truly wonderous this interaction was: I do not show the real me to strangers. The me I show is the one you will like. It's the one you will find so witty, so smart, so engimatic that you'll have no choice but to want to be my friend. It's the me I use to detract you from noticing how fat I am. Trust, me, you will like me. (I moved around a lot as a kid, I developed a skill, okay?)

So Denise and I start chatting; we're talking about my goals, what the facility offers, what the fees are … when out of NOWHERE, real Laura jumps out of my mouth, "You know, it's a miracle I even walked through that door."

Ooops.

Denise’s eyes quickly go wide, and just as quickly they narrow ever-so-slightly. She has just had the crack in the dam pointed out to her. Her smile leaves her face and she looks into my eyes with a gaze I can not break. She holds me with that look, reaches her hand out - palm up - and says calmly, "Give me your keys."

Oh shit. She knows. She knows. She knows!

My heart starts to race. Nobody is supposed to know. Nobody is supposed to figure it out. See, I'm a leaver. If something feels even a little bit uncomfortable or like I might give away something about myself, I will make up some plausible excuse and get the hell out of there.

But she saw it. And she took my keys. A little voice in my head whispers, You’re already scared; go for it.

So I drop the act and tell her about how I don't care if somebody is waiting to work-out with me - that I know they're getting paid and their time doesn’t mean anything to me. I told her I'm a chronic re-scheduler. I told her that I used to have an amazing body. I told her that I'm scared. And I stayed for 40 minutes talking. And after that 40 minutes, I joined. And I meant it.

We're not done there.

I leave the gym heading home and I see it. The counseling center I'd been to almost 18 months ago when I was trying to figure out the, "should I stay or should I go" question.

At that time, I'd met with a counselor named Lisa. She was great, we really connected. But when I left that first session, she had asked me to think about something. “When you come back, I’d like you to look at your marriage and answer this: what does your it need to look like for you to stay?”

When I realized the answer was, “when he or I are different people,” it scared me. I called to cancel my appointment, telling the receptionist I just couldn’t afford it. (That wasn't as true as it is now; I’ve got serious skills when it comes to making excuses into “reasons.”)

As I neared the building, the little voice from earlier was no longer whispering. You’ve already done something that scares the crap out of you today and you’re still alive. Do this.

So I pull in to the parking lot, walk through the door, stand in front of the receptionist and say, “I need help. I’ve been here before and I saw Lisa. She was wonderful and I’d like to see her again but I really and truly do not have the funds to pay for counseling. There is a miracle in my home every month that enables me to pay for my son’s lunches, but I know something has to change and I’m not sure how to do it. Please help me.”

I didn’t cry at that very moment, but telling it now makes the tears flow.

I can not tell you how long I’d needed to say to someone, I need help. I’d been functioning as though everything were “fine” for so long that the rope was frayed and about to give. I couldn’t keep lying to myself and lying to everyone around me. My emotions, my spirituality and my body were in shambles and I needed someone to pick me up, dust me off and point me in the right direction. Twelve years of doing what you think is right despite how it feels can be quite taxing.

Then it happened again. No sooner was the phrase, “please help me,” out of my mouth than this woman locks eyes with me and sees through the smile. She says, “Do you need a hug?” Those five words induce a torrent of tears; all I can do is nod. She comes from behind the desk. Her name is Julie and she is an angel. She holds me for a while, and I let her. Then we talk. Between hiccups and sips of water, I tell her what I can. And she listens. She has me wait for about 45 minutes, telling me that Lisa is there, but she’s on a phone session and she (Julie) just really, really thinks I should stay and talk to her that very night. I think I’m waiting to talk to Lisa about obtaining what they call a scholarship, but apparently Julie has different ideas. When Lisa gets off of the phone, Julie dials her, murmurs for a few seconds, hangs up and says to me, “You can go on up.” I do.

I walk into Lisa’s office not quite knowing what to expect. Her face lights up with instant recognition and she says, “I wondered when you’d be back.” We embrace (I’m in serious need of hugs by now) and as I turn to shut the door, notice there is writing on her whiteboard adjacent to the door. Always the nosy one, I read the two statements written there:

- Live with intention.
- The direction your feet are pointed is the direction you are headed.

Ho-ly shitballs, Batman.

I recover quickly and - always the Vulcan (I need scientific evidence, Captain!) – gesture to the whiteboard and ask if her if she is maybe receiving a newsletter?

“No,” she says looking a little perplexed.

“Did you go to today’s Chamber luncheon?”

“No, why?”

“Do you know Jodee Bock?”

“Oh, sure – I saw her speak a few years ago. She was very inspiring.”

Flummoxed for a moment, I suspect this is not a set-up, nor is it a coincidence. I come to realize later that this was, like so many other things that day, a moment of grace.

Lisa sits talking with me for nearly two hours that night. She remembers things from our first session. She listens. She cries with me.

This is the beginning to a glorious journey I know is not yet finished.

I’ll tell more of the story in future installments, but I can tell these things now: We all matter. We are all vital. We are all loved. And if we allow ourselves to see and accept it, we are all connected.

Be well.

Lucid? No, but I feel better.

Feelin' kind of scattered tonight. No, not scattered really. The few things that do have my attention I'm very intent on. Ready? Feel free to fast forward. Some days I wish I had that option.

New church: I tried out a new church this last Sunday. Bethel somethin' or other down in the south part of town. Sparkycus is going to confirmation at a Lutheran church, but their way of doing things didn't speak to me. I grew up in an Assemblies of God atmosphere (I always tell people, "You know, speakin' in tongues, clappin' and such. We were THIS close to foot washin' and snake handlin'!" That usually gets the jaws dropping and amuses me to no end.) Anyway, as I walked in to the sanctuary, there was a statement carved in the stone above the entry with a (and I have to paraphrase here) "Worship all nations" message. Now this got my attention. I don't know if I've ever talked about it here, but one of my most not favorite things about Fargo is how friggin' white and uppity it can be. Here, when most folks see someone of a different color, they plaster on their fake smile face and glance away. It makes me ill.

The music coming from the sanctuary made me tear up just listening. There was a choir. An honest-to-Pete 40 or 50 person choir, voices lifting in worship. I have no idea what they were singing, but I can tell you that in 10 years in this area and having visited a few different (albeit Lutheran) churches, I hadn't heard anything like it.

The sermon was multi-faceted, but the thing that pleased me most was that they directly addressed the area's ambiguity toward new Americans. Did you know Fargo is one of the top 10 places folks from war-torn countries in Africa and Europe escape to? You'd be surprised. I felt at home and will be returning. I even filled out the little, "I'm new here, yes please contact me" card. I described it all as best I could to Sparkycus, but he considers his church his own personal sanctuary and doesn't want to visit mine just yet. I told him that was fine and that his relationship with the Lord is his and that I support his decisions in that area.

I'm going to counseling. A head shrink even! I enjoy my time with her; we connect pretty deeply and I feel like I'm in good hands. I know I have quite a bit to work on before I'm ready for another relationship. With my marriage winding down (what a weird way to say it, huh?) I look to the future and realize I don't possess the skills or knowledge about myself to have anything resembling what I know deep in my heart exists. Logically I think true love is bullshit, but somehow, in some part of me, I believe it's real. Someday.

Work is ... work. I have a serious case of "the grass must be greener" yet found myself turning down a recruiter from a competing agency earlier this week. I adore and dare I say respect the people I work with and have no desire to cause damage in such a manner. Forget the money, I love my peeps.

Speaking of my peeps, we're going out tomorrow night and I plan to tie one on. I haven't done that in years, but know that I'll be well taken care of. Sparkycus is going to Castaway Camp for the weekend with church, which is referred to as "Sex Camp" because it's where they separate the boys and girls and explain the religious and spiritual side of sex and it's consequences. I wonder how much I'll have to reprogram when he gets home? I don't think you should wait for marriage to have sex, but I do believe you should be much, much older than thirteen. Like 19 or 20. Sparkycus is embarrassed beyond belief because I called the lead counselor and explained Sparkycus' asthma situation, then wrapped up with, "and you understand that by my explaining this to you that you're accepting full responsibility for my child's welfare while he's in your hands, correct? And that should any preventable asthma-related issues arise because someone such as yourself or someone in your employ fails to recognize a potential situation as I described, there will be repercussions, correct?" It was all my child could do not to rip the phone from my hands and stomp on it. I explained that I'm doing my job and that when I'm in Mama Bear mode he should probably just stand back. I think he was too taken aback to argue, which is just fine by me. Furthermore, the child believes that he'll be enjoying this particular 1.5 hour bus ride with a young lady we'll call "Mary." Which is fine ... but what he doesn't know is that I remember what I used to do on the bus and that his father, by way of example, received his first, erm "digital manipulation" by another in the backseat of a church bus. I am SO ratting him out before he can even get close.

Where was I? Oh, yes ... tying one on. I'll report back on what taxi fare is in the booming metropolis this weekend!

Update from two days ago: it friggin' snowed. Of course, the local paper says it's going to be 432 degrees in about a week, and I say at least it's going to warm up. (yes, I really said four hundred thirty two ... I can't make this stuff up.)

I've joined the gym and hired a trainer. What I didn't know is that trainer boy was going to be hot, hot, hot and we were going to hit it off. He's like six years younger than I am and has already loaned me a copy of his favorite movie on DVD and burned me a copy of his favorite CD ... and we've only worked out together three times. Is that weird? Do boys who are just wanting to be friends do stuff like that? I'm just going to keep him at friend-arm length and see what happens when the big D is final in the spring. Right now I get all giggly when anybody pays attention to me, so I'm sure I'm reading in to it.

I need to make more money. The other agency offered me almost $12k a year more, but I just couldn't do it. I'd rather uproot Sparkycus and the feline trio and move into an apartment than not be able to look myself in the eye. Besides, I really don't ever see myself working in an agency environment after this one. Advertising isn't good for anybody. I don't mean financially ... I mean there is no socially redeeming value in it. I don't do a darned thing that makes anybody's life better. Funnier, maybe. Better? Probably darn not. My counselor, (her name is Lisa, btw) says I am making someone life's better ... my son's. By supporting him I'm contributing to society. I buy into it for about 4 seconds a day and then an account exec will shit themselves sideways because they haven't seen their ad for some damn women's magazine yet. BARF!

I'm paying someone to deep clean my house for me. I sold my elliptical machine (remember when I got that?) but it turns out I do much better actually going to a gym. I'm using the money I got from that to pay someone else to do my job. Then again, it is completely and entirely only my job. We have a four level split and no one else really pitches in. All it does is make me angry. So instead of paying any of OUR bills, I'm cleaning MY house. Grrrrr. Let's not forget that the furnace's pressure release valve had been spewing for WEEKS before I finally had to call the repair people myself. For the love of Pete ...

OK. Enough.

Tomorrow is Friday. May your end of the week wrap things up and give you a sense of excitement about tomorrow. And the next day.

Be well.

It May Have Been My Fault

Dave is gone.

Closet Metro from dirtyfloorsandfilthyjokes has resigned his blog, siting a need for privacy. (OK, really he said that when he started he was bored, unemployed and lonely and now his life is quite drastically different and there's not a whole lot about his life in the here and now he wants to discuss publicly ... I paraphrased.)

It's my fault. I commented on a picture he posted noting a pair of female shoes in the background. I feel like a heel.

However, I realize the world does not revolve around me and simply say to Dave: You made me laugh, you made me think. You made me look up artists I'd never heard of and download music it turns out I really like. I'll miss you. God forbid you're ever bored, unemployed or lonely again, but if you are ... you'll be welcomed back. Be well.

The House: Sharing Sucks

Working in advertising has it's downfalls. Like having your time be 80%+ billable. And late hours. And working weekends to catch up. And clients who are utter morons. But there are benefits, too. One of them came in the form of Vikings tickets for today's game. No kidding. 'Got an email on Friday from the HR babe ... "free tickets!" ... and a plan was hatched.

My husband-for-now is a HUGE Vikings fans. We're talking overboard. He's too Scandanavian-uptight to paint his face & chest and parade around in public, but that's just his upbringing stopping him. When I read HR babe's email I said to myself, "Self," I said, " this is your opportunity to get him out of the house and have it just be you & Sparkycus!" (which is something I yearn for, by the way.)

That's right, I'm a genius! Minneapolis is four hours away ... all I had to do was waive the tickets in front of his face and zoooom! he was outta there.

Don't get me wrong; if you have to divorce somebody but still live with them until you can sell the house (we're looking at spring at this point) then this is the guy. But for the LOVE OF PETE ... stop it already. He acts like nothing is changing. Never mind we've been sleeping in seperate bedrooms for over six months. Never mind I have NO desire to have any physical contact with him. He still caters to me and is overly, gooey sweet. Wait a minute. This all sounds very familar. I've been here before. With him. Except the last two times, nothing ever actually changed. It was all an illusion. I'm sure we'll be back to "normal" within a month. It's going to be a long, long winter.

Sparkycus is going to church camp next weekend. I need to find somewhere to escape to ... suggestions?

eegads!

I just noticed that while I changed my template, I would need to reformat the entire page's fonts to avoid the hideous clashing currently taking place.

Yeah, I'm not going to do that.

Instead, I apologize and encourage you to ignore the aesthetics. In the grand scheme of things, I made my decision thusly: I don't have clean laundry. Underwear comes first.

"Fall" As A Verb

Maybe it's because I spent the majority of my formidable years in the desert, but I am absolutely tickled by the fall season in this part of the world.

The last four days have been unbelievably beautiful. The colors are like something from a storybook. Today as I drove, I noticed the leaves falling like rain. How have I missed this the last ten years? It made me want to put my hand out the window to see if I could catch one. Maybe tomorrow I'll do just that.

Ch ch ch ch changes ...

Well, I made the big announcement. It's been a month since I've done so, I'm sorry for dissappearing ... and reappearing in a new place.

So many things became apparent to me in the last few months:
1) entirely too many people I know and love knew my blogdress
2) I wasn't posting because of the lack of privacy (I know it's a blog, but not for the people and content I need to blog about, silly!)
3) the whole darn thing was started at a time when I was going through ... uh, "something." I'm shedding whatever that was and moving on and thus so is this site. Onward!
4) I married the wrong man. Not that I know who the right man is; I just know it's not my husband. I told him so over Labor Day weekend (didn't want to ruin Arbor Day!) and we're now dealing with the wreckage. It's sad, it's hopeful, it's painful and it's joyful. (at least for me)

So, here we are. Just you & I. OK, the two of you & I. I can't promise to post every day. I won't make promises I'm not committed to anymore. I can tell you this, though. I'm glad you're here.