It's the challenges of telling people what you want that cause sleepless nights and endless lists and self debates that, of late, have led to throwing up my hands, turning on the TV and essentially plugging my fingers in my ears and yelling "La La La" in hopes my brain will shut off.
Only brains don't shut off...in the few minute drive to or from work, as I'm sorting through mindless emails, putting the 30234089234th DVD on order because one of my coworkers can't do her own data entry....
What do I want? More...that's the obvious answer, but it's not always so clear.
1) I want a different job in a different location. Alright, that's not new, but things have started to change with that. I told my two immediate supervisors--with great success! They're honestly supportive and that's amazing. It's unusual, for I think most managers aren't that way and most professions don't support someone coming to you and saying "I want more, I want to do other things..."--at least, not when those more and other things mean you'll lose your youngest professional staff member and won't be able to replace her indefinitely (hiring freeze).
2) I want to become better with HTML and CSS, and get my own website rolling. I have a good book on the former, I need to get ahold of the LisNews host for the latter...And I'm going to start doing the tutorials over at w3 schools--best free HTML/CSS stuff I've found out there so far. Maybe I can get that certification, that'd help.
3) I need to talk to more people. Talk talk talk talk talk... Several people have said they are happy to talk to me about what's going on, coming up, etc in academic libraries. I'd like to think I'm not entirely blind but it'd be good to get some ideas.
4) Turn off the TV, turn down the social networks, and just power through. I should get on a couple long plane flights--I get more done in airports/planes. Of course, I always take twice as much with me as I can actually get done...
That's just where the brain has started...but there's more...always more.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Episode 43: Tell Me What To Do...
I've hit one of those stumbling blocks where it's just not clear what will come next in my life. Yes, I'm praying about it; family is praying about it; and I'm trying to be patient and wait.
Patience is not something I have lots of, though most people seem to think I do because I learned how to effectively self-entertain.
I've started talking to my various mentors and being really honest about my frustration. I know I have a good stable job and I'm aware that's a huge blessing. Truly. Got that. But I need to get out of children's before I am pigeonholed for the rest of my career into something I never set out to do. I worked with children because that's where my friends were and that's how I could put myself through graduate school (along with the grad assistant stipend).
Unfortunately there aren't any really good answers. The job market begins to open again but with that is a flood tide of well qualified applicants. And I'm not local to a lot of the places I'd be interested in working. Places seem painfully reluctant to take people who would have to move. The why of this is unclear but that's where it is...
On Friday I'm having my two supervisors over for wine and cat-snuggling. They both have asked to meet the cat and actually it'll be the first time for the visiting my home. Which explains why I was frantically polishing the silver. I need to do more normal things like vaccuum still but who wants to do that when I can dust all my knick knacks and completely reorganize the bookshelves!
I know, I know...
Anyway, the point is that I'm going to ask them for help. I'm going to point out where I'd like my career to go and see what we can do to make things go that way.
They're good women, strong supporters, and I think they'll understand. It's going to be a horribly difficult conversation, but it's time.
Wish me luck.
Patience is not something I have lots of, though most people seem to think I do because I learned how to effectively self-entertain.
I've started talking to my various mentors and being really honest about my frustration. I know I have a good stable job and I'm aware that's a huge blessing. Truly. Got that. But I need to get out of children's before I am pigeonholed for the rest of my career into something I never set out to do. I worked with children because that's where my friends were and that's how I could put myself through graduate school (along with the grad assistant stipend).
Unfortunately there aren't any really good answers. The job market begins to open again but with that is a flood tide of well qualified applicants. And I'm not local to a lot of the places I'd be interested in working. Places seem painfully reluctant to take people who would have to move. The why of this is unclear but that's where it is...
On Friday I'm having my two supervisors over for wine and cat-snuggling. They both have asked to meet the cat and actually it'll be the first time for the visiting my home. Which explains why I was frantically polishing the silver. I need to do more normal things like vaccuum still but who wants to do that when I can dust all my knick knacks and completely reorganize the bookshelves!
I know, I know...
Anyway, the point is that I'm going to ask them for help. I'm going to point out where I'd like my career to go and see what we can do to make things go that way.
They're good women, strong supporters, and I think they'll understand. It's going to be a horribly difficult conversation, but it's time.
Wish me luck.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Episode 42: Decluttering
For all intents and purposes, looking at the to do list I had for the weekend, I was incredibly unproductive. No jobs were applied to, I have several really good blogs posts in draft that weren't finished, you STILL haven't seen my vacation pictures.
I spent the weekend puttering around my apartment cleaning. I took four bags of stuff out to the garbage, another five are in my trunk for Goodwill. I have a bag of things designated as "need mending." I've switched over to mostly spring/summer wardrobe (the linen is still packed). I polished the silver.
Yes, really. I polished the silver tea and coffee pots and the tray. It'd been longer than I care to admit and they were looking rather dingy. Now, shining gleaming silver. I feel the need for crumpets and cheese cubes. Fortunately, there are crumpets in the fridge.
I'm always blown away by a) stuff I have that I can get rid of that I should have gotten rid of forever ago and b) how things "fluff up" to fill the space.If I can go through and find a trunk full of stuff that needs to be donated and bags full of things that are ready to be thrown away...why haven't I? Why didn't I just get rid of things immediately? Granted, some of that was regular garbage and litter box changing and such...but still. And if you walk into the apartment? It doesn't look empty. It's not sparse. My stuff took off its collective corset and exhaled. It's actually slightly disheartening, because I wanted to feel like I'd purged.
And at 9:30 p.m. a nice young woman came by to claim three huge adult spider plants. Now we're back to a 1:8 mammal:plant ratio. At least we're well oxygenated.
I spent the weekend puttering around my apartment cleaning. I took four bags of stuff out to the garbage, another five are in my trunk for Goodwill. I have a bag of things designated as "need mending." I've switched over to mostly spring/summer wardrobe (the linen is still packed). I polished the silver.
Yes, really. I polished the silver tea and coffee pots and the tray. It'd been longer than I care to admit and they were looking rather dingy. Now, shining gleaming silver. I feel the need for crumpets and cheese cubes. Fortunately, there are crumpets in the fridge.
I'm always blown away by a) stuff I have that I can get rid of that I should have gotten rid of forever ago and b) how things "fluff up" to fill the space.If I can go through and find a trunk full of stuff that needs to be donated and bags full of things that are ready to be thrown away...why haven't I? Why didn't I just get rid of things immediately? Granted, some of that was regular garbage and litter box changing and such...but still. And if you walk into the apartment? It doesn't look empty. It's not sparse. My stuff took off its collective corset and exhaled. It's actually slightly disheartening, because I wanted to feel like I'd purged.
And at 9:30 p.m. a nice young woman came by to claim three huge adult spider plants. Now we're back to a 1:8 mammal:plant ratio. At least we're well oxygenated.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Episode 41: Positive Human Connection
I sat across the table from my friend, holding a beautiful earthenware mug. The coffee had warmed cold fingers; the company soothed busy minds.
And for a while we just held hands across the table. It was extremely intimate, though not romantic. Here were two human beings gently connecting, despite the haste of the world around us, the craziness of our regular lives. We spoke softly for some time, finding our way back to sanity but mostly just relying on each other to find a smile.
So much of what we do involves interacting with people, but without any physical contact. You and I used to work in a place where we had children climbing all over us. We were used to giving piggy-back rides, slinging a baby on our hips, and still managing to keep three other things going. When I changed to my professional position, it was with the understanding that you didn't touch people--because touching people meant a potential lawsuit. So despite working with vast numbers of the public every day, it's very rare that I actually touch someone.
And that spills over into the rest of our lives. Without close friends in the local region, I can go quite literally for days without actually touching another person. I keep up my traveling--Milwaukee, Chicago, Appleton--and there were many hugs there. Here locally--I think I've given/received 2 hugs since the New Year.
People need people--we need positive connection and one of the ways we get that is through human touch. A hand on a shoulder or hand; a hug; sometimes even just a warm handshake. Only, we're in a hypochondraic time where touching things and people is dirty, where we go through gallons of hand sanitizer, where touching others is considered impolite. Not that I don't have a huge amount of personal space--but you get the general idea.
Is it any wonder we all head for our massage therapists or even for a manicure/pedicure? We need some kind of human contact and soothing touch beyond brushing fingers with someone as we receive change at the coffee shop, assuming we're so anachronistic as to pay with cash.
We're increasingly disconnected--relating to people through our myriad screens. I think it comes at a cost of losing some of our positive human connection with the world around us, and that caring touch.
And the irony that I write this so you'll read it on a screen because you're too far away for me to hug--yah, I got that.
And for a while we just held hands across the table. It was extremely intimate, though not romantic. Here were two human beings gently connecting, despite the haste of the world around us, the craziness of our regular lives. We spoke softly for some time, finding our way back to sanity but mostly just relying on each other to find a smile.
So much of what we do involves interacting with people, but without any physical contact. You and I used to work in a place where we had children climbing all over us. We were used to giving piggy-back rides, slinging a baby on our hips, and still managing to keep three other things going. When I changed to my professional position, it was with the understanding that you didn't touch people--because touching people meant a potential lawsuit. So despite working with vast numbers of the public every day, it's very rare that I actually touch someone.
And that spills over into the rest of our lives. Without close friends in the local region, I can go quite literally for days without actually touching another person. I keep up my traveling--Milwaukee, Chicago, Appleton--and there were many hugs there. Here locally--I think I've given/received 2 hugs since the New Year.
People need people--we need positive connection and one of the ways we get that is through human touch. A hand on a shoulder or hand; a hug; sometimes even just a warm handshake. Only, we're in a hypochondraic time where touching things and people is dirty, where we go through gallons of hand sanitizer, where touching others is considered impolite. Not that I don't have a huge amount of personal space--but you get the general idea.
Is it any wonder we all head for our massage therapists or even for a manicure/pedicure? We need some kind of human contact and soothing touch beyond brushing fingers with someone as we receive change at the coffee shop, assuming we're so anachronistic as to pay with cash.
We're increasingly disconnected--relating to people through our myriad screens. I think it comes at a cost of losing some of our positive human connection with the world around us, and that caring touch.
And the irony that I write this so you'll read it on a screen because you're too far away for me to hug--yah, I got that.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Episode 40: I Appreciate
Too often we talk about only the frustrating or the negative. A moment then, to smile about good things.
My USPS people here. I put my mail on hold all the time, I've always got packages going in and out, and it wasn't a problem when I showed up with a pile of papers and my passport and wondered how to get things to the Egyptian Consulate. My mailman (yes, actually a guy) knows I'm home Tuesday mornings and occasionally rings me to buzz him in for other people.
My UPS driver in Chicago. She brought so many cool and wonderful things and was always pleasant. I think my favorite delivery was the day I opened the door with a tray of cookies in one hand. She didn't blink, but held the spatula while I signed--left-handed.
My cobbler. Everyone should have one. I show up, say "can you do something with these?" presenting heels I've beaten into the ground, worn all over, and not polished nor barely cared for in the previous winter. He takes them and in just a few days transforms them into nearly brand new. And I am reshod once more, far more cheaply than buying new boots. I had one in NY and I have one now. I can only hope to find another good one the next time I move.
My USPS people here. I put my mail on hold all the time, I've always got packages going in and out, and it wasn't a problem when I showed up with a pile of papers and my passport and wondered how to get things to the Egyptian Consulate. My mailman (yes, actually a guy) knows I'm home Tuesday mornings and occasionally rings me to buzz him in for other people.
My UPS driver in Chicago. She brought so many cool and wonderful things and was always pleasant. I think my favorite delivery was the day I opened the door with a tray of cookies in one hand. She didn't blink, but held the spatula while I signed--left-handed.
My cobbler. Everyone should have one. I show up, say "can you do something with these?" presenting heels I've beaten into the ground, worn all over, and not polished nor barely cared for in the previous winter. He takes them and in just a few days transforms them into nearly brand new. And I am reshod once more, far more cheaply than buying new boots. I had one in NY and I have one now. I can only hope to find another good one the next time I move.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Episode 39: Staring at My Hips
Combating negative body image, particularly one's own, is a daily task for most women. We fling ourselves through our morning routine, barely seeing our own faces in the mirror as we wash, dress, put on make up, style our hair and sprint out the door. We're terrified to know that if we did look, we'd find fault.
What specific challenge do I have? According to society and 99% of the women that I run into, I'm not allowed to be at all desirious of changing my body. I'm not permitted to be frustrated because I can't find clothing that fits, that I'm not as in shape as I'd like to be, that the voices in my head keep telling me that I'm not as pretty as other girls. To express any irritation results in scoffing, mockery, and derogatory "compliments."
This challenge comes because, according to Ann Taylor Loft, I'm a size 00P. How it is a girl with 34" hips has to wear a size that's less than existing, I fail to grasp, but that's the only size business pants I can buy that fit. All the pants at Banana are too big and I'm honestly afraid to try on anything at Express or New York and Co because chances are good I'll come out of the dressing room sadly, knowing that once again, I'm too small to fit into their clothing. And then I'll end up buying something trashy in one of the juniors stores just because it fits.
It's difficult being relegated to the juniors department when trying to find professional clothing. It's irritating when other women announce how it "must be those size 4 and 6s" who are proclaiming anything body image. And it's a continual ongoing assault on all sides.
The fashion industry, modeling industry, and make up industry tells me I'm not trendy, thin, tall, pretty enough. I've accepted that they're trying to tell me to buy their products in pursuit of one of those adjectives. If I were an inch or two shorter and about 15 lbs lighter, I might have a career in petite modeling. But I missed the boat on that one. They have, at least, a clearly defined motive--a bottom line I can clearly identify: they want me to buy stuff.
The women in my life tell me I'm scrawny, non-existent, too fragile, bony, not curvy enough--despite nearly 10" hour-glass curves. They tell me I'm unworthy to want better for myself because I've gotten my share and it's unreasonable to want to improve my health, my shape, and ultimately my life. I don't understand their motive.
Men I know keep announcing "they like a little meat on their women's bones." They openly discuss how thin girls are all sharp angles, are not real women, are too childish or boyish. I assume their motive has to do with them getting laid.
And I stand silently in the corner, knowing that to open my mouth will bring only ridicule. For in this world I'm told I have no room to have my say. I'm not allowed to be frustrated at a society where there's an enormous split between a celebration of the Renaissance, Titian woman and the glorification of toned, tanned, thin, blond celebrity.
What specific challenge do I have? According to society and 99% of the women that I run into, I'm not allowed to be at all desirious of changing my body. I'm not permitted to be frustrated because I can't find clothing that fits, that I'm not as in shape as I'd like to be, that the voices in my head keep telling me that I'm not as pretty as other girls. To express any irritation results in scoffing, mockery, and derogatory "compliments."
This challenge comes because, according to Ann Taylor Loft, I'm a size 00P. How it is a girl with 34" hips has to wear a size that's less than existing, I fail to grasp, but that's the only size business pants I can buy that fit. All the pants at Banana are too big and I'm honestly afraid to try on anything at Express or New York and Co because chances are good I'll come out of the dressing room sadly, knowing that once again, I'm too small to fit into their clothing. And then I'll end up buying something trashy in one of the juniors stores just because it fits.
It's difficult being relegated to the juniors department when trying to find professional clothing. It's irritating when other women announce how it "must be those size 4 and 6s" who are proclaiming anything body image. And it's a continual ongoing assault on all sides.
The fashion industry, modeling industry, and make up industry tells me I'm not trendy, thin, tall, pretty enough. I've accepted that they're trying to tell me to buy their products in pursuit of one of those adjectives. If I were an inch or two shorter and about 15 lbs lighter, I might have a career in petite modeling. But I missed the boat on that one. They have, at least, a clearly defined motive--a bottom line I can clearly identify: they want me to buy stuff.
The women in my life tell me I'm scrawny, non-existent, too fragile, bony, not curvy enough--despite nearly 10" hour-glass curves. They tell me I'm unworthy to want better for myself because I've gotten my share and it's unreasonable to want to improve my health, my shape, and ultimately my life. I don't understand their motive.
Men I know keep announcing "they like a little meat on their women's bones." They openly discuss how thin girls are all sharp angles, are not real women, are too childish or boyish. I assume their motive has to do with them getting laid.
And I stand silently in the corner, knowing that to open my mouth will bring only ridicule. For in this world I'm told I have no room to have my say. I'm not allowed to be frustrated at a society where there's an enormous split between a celebration of the Renaissance, Titian woman and the glorification of toned, tanned, thin, blond celebrity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)