I’m Not Special

And yet…

I don’t want to do it anymore.  It isn’t working, or being productive that I have a problem with.  It’s the layer of BS that gets added to every professional transaction.  I know what I’m good at: I can take any kind of prose, make it comprehensible to a given audience, order it logically, impose plain language standards on it, and otherwise make it professional and compelling.  I can do this for reports to Congress, scientific findings, engineering reports, and novels.  I can provide coaching on writing issues for individuals and groups.  I have this nascent idea about working with individuals who have something that they want to work out of their system through creative writing, though I have no idea how one would actually make an income with that.

I can write anything, so long as I don’t have to be the SME.  I know social media, so long as we aren’t trying to BS anyone.  I don’t think BS is a sustainable marketing approach, therefore I’m not a proponent of it.  I can do internal communications, however I am convinced that there has to be an internal alignment between leadership behaviors, company values, and organizational culture.  You can’t have any one of these things opposing the other and expect for a message to drown out the dissonance.

Sign me up to do any of those things.  Don’t ask me to praise the emperor’s pants when he isn’t wearing any.  I think my intolerance for BS has finally become so acute that I am no longer fit for employment.  The truth is that I simply have run out of the will for it.  I should be terrified by the prospect of another round of unemployment, this time without the benefit of unemployment insurance.  That fear should make me appropriately compliant.  Yes sir, whatever you say sir…

I’m not afraid.  I’m also not so special that I should be exempt from working.  We all have to do things we don’t like to get through things like student loans and keeping our cars in gas and oil.  I know this.  It isn’t that I think I should be exempt for any particular reason.  I just don’t know why it should be so hard.  I just want to do what I’m good at and be left alone to get on with it…

Which I think comes out as an extended whinge.  It can’t be helped.  I am feeling deeply whingy.

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I’m Not Special

My Favorite Insult

Pragmatist.

I know people mean I’m not paying enough attention to the romantic last stand – romance, not as in kissy-face behavior, but romantic in the older sense of the word.  The kind of people that die trying to take hills that are never going to be theirs.  Or die for want of their beloved.  Romantic like Romeo and Juliette are romantic.  Someone’s got to die for that kind of romance to work and frankly, whatever my issues may be, wanting to die pointlessly isn’t among them.

But from my perspective, why die when you could skip the hill altogether and get what you want through some other means?  Why perish for love when you can pick up the phone or write a letter or show up at the front door and do what it takes?  And if your beloved runs off and marries another, well… I guess you’d better speak up before he/she does, right?

I mean, I’m in the throes of my own romantic misery: I’m entirely convinced that this person, this body, these eyes, this personality, these traits, these fractures are the end-all-be-all of the rest of my romantic (in the kissy-face sense of the word) life.  I mean, I’m there.  And if I have to get over it, I can say with all certainty that the person I’ll have to become to pull that off isn’t someone that I want to meet, let alone be.   That’s got to be sufficiently romantic for the most die-hard romantic comedy subject matter expert.

Even so, even then.

F*ck.  If the sh!t isn’t working, do something else.  You aren’t getting the results you want with the things you’ve been doing?  Well, it isn’t like you’ve got anything to lose at this point.  Do something else.  If it isn’t working, change tactics.  You can always go back to the old method of reaching failure if you don’t like experimenting with new ways to find success.

Pragmatist.  I’ll own the insult and thank you for noticing.

 

My Favorite Insult

Binge Reading

For various and assorted reasons, I’ve needed to access the basics – things I already know but that tend to get obscured by habit, daily life, and managing all of the above.  I’m not exactly dating at the moment, but one of the books that I picked up was the Tao of Dating, the version for the girls.  The book itself is unusually helpful.  For that matter, so is the Author, who responded to my note quickly and helpfully.  To put that in context, I rarely write an author to thank them for the book, but this was an exception.  He reminded me of some things I was in serious danger of forgetting – things I know but that tend to get lost in the cacophony of voices that have nothing to gain from me maintaining my balance.

I’ve looked at a number of the sites that purport to tell women how to catch and keep a man.  In fact, I think one of them is catchandkeep.com  Seriously.  In some ways, this author is working from much the same platform.  You can download the book in e-format, or you can get it from Amazon where it is (I suspect) self-published and twice as expensive as most other paperbacks for sale.  It is unfortunate, in a way, that the author runs the risk of being tainted by the competition.  All of that aside, I highly recommend the book.  There are a number of take-aways, first and foremost is don’t lose yourself in the process – you are the buyer, not the commodity being bought.  Second, and equally important: it is all in how you frame the situation.

Totally worth the asking price and this one comes with the advantage of being able to buy it in hard copy to write all over (which I did).  It isn’t just for dating, it could also be called The Tao of Retaining Yourself All Day and Every Day.  Worth the $40.  Every penny.  If you don’t have the money, remember this:

Hang on to yourself.  Or go with my Oma’s advice: Love many, trust few, always paddle your own canoe.

Binge Reading

The Feminine Derivative of Thor

Over thirty years ago, my grandmother left my grandfather.  The reasons why are a bit of a mystery, given that the truth always lies somewhere in between the two sides of the story.  What can be relayed as factual is this:  My grandmother, in an age when leaving your husband wasn’t done, particularly when you were not American and didn’t live in the big amoral city, left my grandfather with approximately $10 to her name.  As I imagine it from my mother’s retelling, she stood there with her hand in her pocket, fingering that $10 bill, and she figured it out.  She didn’t die.  She didn’t starve.  Starting over brand new from her mid-forties, she rebuilt a life that included serving as a cook on Arctic oil drills, among other things.  My grandmother is a battle ax, in the best sense of the term.

My mother shares this to remind me that I come from a long line of women with, ahem, stones.  And that, if my grandmother made it without the benefit of a high school diploma, I am most certainly capable of taking a flying leap of faith and landing on my own two feet.  To quote the grandmother, “Love many, trust few.  Always paddle your own canoe.”

The trouble is that I can’t tell which is the bigger leap of faith.  I read “The Secret” not too long ago, so I guess the answer is to conjure up the right outcome by sheer will power and/or imagination and/or feeling the positive vibes.

Or something like that.  Let’s go with this: today’s mantra is “I have lady-stones.  They are sufficient to carry me through anything.”

The Feminine Derivative of Thor