Looking at my number of blog posts for the past few months, I'm averaging about one a month. That's pathetic! I'm not sure why I'm not posting more. I guess it's because I think no one will want to hear about my rants about my lack of work, our lack of money, or this stinking economy.
It's a scary time, people....I don't know if anyone else is feeling it like we are, but it's frightening to think that we don't know what the future holds. I've always had the feeling that if I lost my job, or the freelance work wasn't coming in, I'd be able to make it by temping or working at Starbucks. But with so many people out of work, even those jobs are hard to come by.
But we are thankful for the little work that we do have. David is freelancing, and working part time at a counseling practice (although it will be a while before he builds up his client base...), and I just landed a website project that will keep me busy for a few weeks.
Every day I see things that make me grateful for what David and I have: A roof over our heads. Food. The work that is trickling in. We have friends and family and each other.
In Chicago, we always see homeless people begging at intersections. They wait for the light to turn red, and then they walk in between the two rows of stopped cars with a cardboard sign that reads "Homeless and hungry, please help" or something like that. Most of the time you see the same people at the same intersections. It's hard to know what to do. Once, I was eating a sandwich in my car and one of these beggars looked into my car longingly. I handed him the untouched half of my sandwich, and he stuffed it into his mouth. Other times, I give money. And sometimes, I just look away and pretend not to notice them outside my car window. It's hard -- I've heard that you're never supposed to give homeless people cash because they may spend it on drugs or alcohol.
I've noticed lately that different sorts of people are begging at these intersections. They're not the typical homeless men with dirt-caked jeans and mismatched shoes, who feign a limp to elicit sympathy. The other day I saw a 30-ish middle-eastern woman who was holding a picture of her three children. She was clean and had a desperate look on her face. I had no money with me, otherwise I would have give her the entire contents of my wallet.
At least we have food. And while I'm frustrated that our adoption is on hold until we find steady work, in some ways I'm grateful we don't have three children to feed.
When you feel uncertain about the future, it forces you to focus on today. On this moment. I will go crazy if I think months down the road. I'm just living day to day, and as scripture says:
"For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?"
I've always been a worrier. And there are times when I still wake up in the middle of the night and think of all of the Worst Case Scenarios: What if we don't find steady work? What will happen if we run out of money? What if the economy doesn't turn around soon?
But slowly, I'm learning to let go of that worry and just focus on today. And maybe that's the lesson I'm supposed to learn through all of this.....
Friday, June 19, 2009
Saturday, June 06, 2009
More graduations!
Last weekend I attended my niece, Claire's high school graduation. She was valevictorian of her class. As you can tell, she didn't get her smarts from her aunt Karen, seeing as I don't even know how to spell "valevictorian." I think there's a "d" in there somewhere.....
She wrote a lovely, very mature speech that had to do with not judging people on how they seem on the outside, and that it's never too late to pursue your dreams. I hope she remembers it when she's my age. I hope I can remember it as I sit in front of my computer screen and wonder if I'll ever eeeek out a well-written novel.
I saw her writing notes on the backs of her graduation photos to give to her friends, and remember doing the same thing. These gorgeous and talented young men and women who are her friends have their whole lives ahead of them. College! Oh, what a fun and special time when your whole world is opened up. I remember leaving a philosophy class one day feelings like I was on drugs -- the euphoria was that great. And leaving chapel after hearing an inspired speaker and feeling like I could change the world.
Now, 20-some odd years later, after reality has smacked me in the face more than once, I still have those feelings once in a while. I wish I had them more often. But that doesn't mean that life isn't fulfilling and beautiful and adventurous. It's just that it looks a little different than it did on the college campus when I was wearing Izod polo shirts, a plaid skirt, knee socks and loafers (okay, it was the preppy era). Growing up means realizing you have more limitations than you think you have, and you discover that you may not be able to change the world, but you can change your small little part of it. And maybe you're not going to be a famous novelist, but the small things you write will maybe speak into the life of one person. And that's enough.
You also discover that maybe God needs to change you before you can change the world. You need to learn how to love better, and give better, and be more kind and less self-centered.
These are not easy lessons. But opening yourself up to them brings great rewards and fulfillment. And not learning them will lead to a small life of self-absorption and bitterness. Who wants that?
I wish I could tell my nieces and nephews all of the lessons I've learned in the past 20 years. I wish I could spare them the difficulties in life. But they will have to learn their own lessons, in their own ways.
My advice to them is to:
Not let fear keep you from love, or the work you love, or the adventures you want to pursue.
Keep your eyes open for grace. You'll find it in the most unexpected places and times.
Learn how to love unselfishly.
Remember that treasures will be found in the midst of ruin.
Don't live someone else's dream.
The most important thing -- even more than being successful or smart -- is waking up every morning and wondering who you're going to love that day.
Oh, there's so much more. But these are all lessons that will be learned through living your life. So just be open to them.
Oh, and don't forget to keep hoping, even when it seems like there is no hope.
That's the most important one.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Spring = Hope
I love Spring. It's filled with sighs of relief that we survived winter, and we can once again venture outside and enjoy the weather. Here in Chicago, Lake Michigan lures us with its wide open beaches and sparkling blue water reaching to the horizon. Flowers bloom, skies clear, the sun makes an appearance on more days than not, we go outside without jackets or socks, and we celebrate. We acknowledged my birthday on May 16 (I'm not sure I 'celebrate' birthdays anymore), and in our family, we're celebrating graduations, engagements and new chapters.
My niece, LiJen graduated from Anderson University a few weeks ago. She also got engaged to a really nice boy named Josh who she met in China last summer. We love Josh. He fits right into our family.
Next week I'm flying to Ohio to attend my niece, Claire's high school graduation. She'll be coming to Chicago in the fall to attend Wheaton (yipee!). Her big brother Drew is graduating from Princeton in a few weeks, and then he's on his way to teach in China.
Then, David graduates from Northwestern June 20. (double yipee!). He already has some counseling work lined up, so his new career is off and running. And I just finished my first book the day before my birthday.....
With birthdays, graduations, flowers, blue skies, warm weather, new books and chapters, Spring is most of all about hope. That there is beauty and celebration after the long hard winter. That there is work after layoffs. That one starts down an exciting new career path after the hard work of school. That a beautiful little girl who started her life in an orphanage turns into a gorgeous young woman with a college degree and a terrific fiance.
Like I said: I love Spring.
My niece, LiJen graduated from Anderson University a few weeks ago. She also got engaged to a really nice boy named Josh who she met in China last summer. We love Josh. He fits right into our family.
Next week I'm flying to Ohio to attend my niece, Claire's high school graduation. She'll be coming to Chicago in the fall to attend Wheaton (yipee!). Her big brother Drew is graduating from Princeton in a few weeks, and then he's on his way to teach in China.
Then, David graduates from Northwestern June 20. (double yipee!). He already has some counseling work lined up, so his new career is off and running. And I just finished my first book the day before my birthday.....
With birthdays, graduations, flowers, blue skies, warm weather, new books and chapters, Spring is most of all about hope. That there is beauty and celebration after the long hard winter. That there is work after layoffs. That one starts down an exciting new career path after the hard work of school. That a beautiful little girl who started her life in an orphanage turns into a gorgeous young woman with a college degree and a terrific fiance.
Like I said: I love Spring.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Process and Procedures!!
So, I had to visit to the Unemployment Office today. It's a wonderful chance to see the wheels of bureaucracy at work. Inefficiency, incompetence, and waiting. Lots and lots of waiting.
The first time I visited the unemployment office, a few weeks after I was laid off, a short, pock-marked man ordered me to take a number at the door. It was late in the afternoon (rookie mistake), and my number was 264. I sat down in a cold plastic chair. In front of me was a whole row of cubicles designed for unemployment officials to meet with unemployed people like me. Unfortunately, out of 8 available cubicles, only two were occupied with helpful unemployment officials. "They should hire me to help out," i thought. "Heck, I need a job and they need someone to sit in one of those cubicles...."
Soon they called out the next number: "170!" the official yelled. I looked again at my number -- 264 -- and realized it was going to be a long afternoon. I had to wait for 96 people in front of me in line to meet with one of the two officials, one of whom kept taking breaks to go outside and smoke a cigarette. Unfortunately, I hadn't brought anything to read (another rookie mistake), and sat there, for 2 1/2 hours, while I watched the unemployed around me becoming more and more aggravated and desperate. It was actually bizarrely suspenseful -- would they get through all of the numbers before the 5:00 deadline? Would the crowd of frustrated unemployed people stage a revolt if the unemployment official took yet another break to smoke his Camels? Would the woman talking too loudly on her cell phone win her argument with her boyfriend? The drama, the drama....
Finally, at 4:45 a woman emerged from a back office and spoke with one of the unemployment officials. Apparently, she was in charge because suddenly, after a slow-moving afternoon, 15 minutes before closing time, things started to happen. Numbers were called. Extra workers came of of their offices to help out (what were they doing all afternoon?) And Before I knew it, I was being summoned over to talk to someone in one of the back offices. I was out of the unemployment office by 5:00. It was a bureaucratic miracle.
Well, today I had to make another visit because a few days ago I received an ominous letter in the mail saying I might be accused of fraud because I hadn't reported some freelance income a few weeks before. Yikes. I didn't know I was supposed to. My freelancing income was under the amount that would affect my weekly unemployment benefit (you can make up to half of your weekly benefit amount before they start decreasing your unemployment payment -- which means I can make up to $192.50 a week before they start decreasing my payment).
The problem is -- even if I make more freelance income, do I report it the week I actually work, or the week I get a check in the mail? Sometimes, it takes clients a month or more to send me a check.
So this time I went to the unemployment office in the morning (having learned my lesson). My number was 69. When I sat down in the plastic chair, I heard them call out "Number 50!" I was thrilled. I only had to wait for 16 people ahead of me to meet with someone.
Plus, this time, I brought two books, a soy latte, and some notes for a freelance project I'm working on. I was prepared!
Turns out this time I didn't need it, though. Within 15 minutes, I was approached by an official who asked me what I needed. I showed her the ominous letter.
Oh, yes, we've been getting lots of those lately. Here, I'll find someone to help you.
I was seated across the desk from a young lad about 27. He was fresh-faced and eager. But he was still learning the ropes. I told him my dilemma: I didn't know I was supposed to record my income because it was below my alloted amount. He understood. He said it was no problem. I wasn't going to be accused of fraud. Yay!
But then I explained my other dilemma: Often, even though I work during a certain week, I don't get paid until a month later. So I'd prefer to report my earnings the week I actually get my check, so I'm not left without unemployment or a paycheck. He thought that would be fine, he said, but he had to double-check with his boss. He was new, after all.....
So, he went off to talk to his boss. Soon, he returned with his boss, a short woman with permed hair. She was shaking her head. "No, you have to report your income the week you WORK, not the week you get PAID," she said. I started to protest, "But that will leave me weeks where I have no income at all -- no unemployment, no freelance income...."
"Doesn't matter," she said. "Process and procedures. Process and procedures! We have to stick to the process and procedures!"
"But it's not like I'm cheating the government. I'll still report the income -- just a few weeks later than when I actually did the work."
"Nope, then you're running the risk of committing fraud!" she said, "You have to stick to the process and procedures!"
So....David and I may be penniless in coming weeks. All due to PROCESS AND PROCEDURES.
Our wonderful, brilliant government at work....
The first time I visited the unemployment office, a few weeks after I was laid off, a short, pock-marked man ordered me to take a number at the door. It was late in the afternoon (rookie mistake), and my number was 264. I sat down in a cold plastic chair. In front of me was a whole row of cubicles designed for unemployment officials to meet with unemployed people like me. Unfortunately, out of 8 available cubicles, only two were occupied with helpful unemployment officials. "They should hire me to help out," i thought. "Heck, I need a job and they need someone to sit in one of those cubicles...."
Soon they called out the next number: "170!" the official yelled. I looked again at my number -- 264 -- and realized it was going to be a long afternoon. I had to wait for 96 people in front of me in line to meet with one of the two officials, one of whom kept taking breaks to go outside and smoke a cigarette. Unfortunately, I hadn't brought anything to read (another rookie mistake), and sat there, for 2 1/2 hours, while I watched the unemployed around me becoming more and more aggravated and desperate. It was actually bizarrely suspenseful -- would they get through all of the numbers before the 5:00 deadline? Would the crowd of frustrated unemployed people stage a revolt if the unemployment official took yet another break to smoke his Camels? Would the woman talking too loudly on her cell phone win her argument with her boyfriend? The drama, the drama....
Finally, at 4:45 a woman emerged from a back office and spoke with one of the unemployment officials. Apparently, she was in charge because suddenly, after a slow-moving afternoon, 15 minutes before closing time, things started to happen. Numbers were called. Extra workers came of of their offices to help out (what were they doing all afternoon?) And Before I knew it, I was being summoned over to talk to someone in one of the back offices. I was out of the unemployment office by 5:00. It was a bureaucratic miracle.
Well, today I had to make another visit because a few days ago I received an ominous letter in the mail saying I might be accused of fraud because I hadn't reported some freelance income a few weeks before. Yikes. I didn't know I was supposed to. My freelancing income was under the amount that would affect my weekly unemployment benefit (you can make up to half of your weekly benefit amount before they start decreasing your unemployment payment -- which means I can make up to $192.50 a week before they start decreasing my payment).
The problem is -- even if I make more freelance income, do I report it the week I actually work, or the week I get a check in the mail? Sometimes, it takes clients a month or more to send me a check.
So this time I went to the unemployment office in the morning (having learned my lesson). My number was 69. When I sat down in the plastic chair, I heard them call out "Number 50!" I was thrilled. I only had to wait for 16 people ahead of me to meet with someone.
Plus, this time, I brought two books, a soy latte, and some notes for a freelance project I'm working on. I was prepared!
Turns out this time I didn't need it, though. Within 15 minutes, I was approached by an official who asked me what I needed. I showed her the ominous letter.
Oh, yes, we've been getting lots of those lately. Here, I'll find someone to help you.
I was seated across the desk from a young lad about 27. He was fresh-faced and eager. But he was still learning the ropes. I told him my dilemma: I didn't know I was supposed to record my income because it was below my alloted amount. He understood. He said it was no problem. I wasn't going to be accused of fraud. Yay!
But then I explained my other dilemma: Often, even though I work during a certain week, I don't get paid until a month later. So I'd prefer to report my earnings the week I actually get my check, so I'm not left without unemployment or a paycheck. He thought that would be fine, he said, but he had to double-check with his boss. He was new, after all.....
So, he went off to talk to his boss. Soon, he returned with his boss, a short woman with permed hair. She was shaking her head. "No, you have to report your income the week you WORK, not the week you get PAID," she said. I started to protest, "But that will leave me weeks where I have no income at all -- no unemployment, no freelance income...."
"Doesn't matter," she said. "Process and procedures. Process and procedures! We have to stick to the process and procedures!"
"But it's not like I'm cheating the government. I'll still report the income -- just a few weeks later than when I actually did the work."
"Nope, then you're running the risk of committing fraud!" she said, "You have to stick to the process and procedures!"
So....David and I may be penniless in coming weeks. All due to PROCESS AND PROCEDURES.
Our wonderful, brilliant government at work....
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A little break from job-hunting
I love Arizona. I've only been there during the winter, though, and my love affair might come to an abrupt end if I vacationed in Phoenix in August when it's two million degrees in the shade. But after an unbearably arctic winter in Chicago, I couldn't
resist a cheap flight to the Valley of the Sun. Mind you, this was a week before I got
laid off. I saw bargain basement prices for flights from Chicago to Phoenix, and I went for it. Since I could crash at my friend Sheri's house, I figured I couldn't beat a short long-weekend vacation with one of my best friends, and also see another good friend, Heather, while I was there.
Then I got laid off. "I can't go." I told David. "We can't afford it!" But I had already paid for the ticket and it was non-refundable. So I could either go for the weekend, or waste a ticket which we had already paid for. Plus, David practically forced me to go. I think he was tired of being around a wife suffering from season affective disorder.
So I went....
A trip to Arizona is more than just a warm-weather vacation for me. It's a chance to see a friend I've known since I was 12. And a chance to reconnect with my good friend, Heather, who was someone I hung out with a lot before she moved South and before I was married.
I hadn't seen her since my wedding, and I missed her.
The first thing I noticed when I landed in Arizona was the sun, of course, and the light. The light is so different there. It's more "yellow" than in Chicago. In Chicago, the sun casts a cool light. In Arizona, it's a warmer color. Why is that? And the smells! I would take a walk and smell the orange trees, and something that smelled like sage. In Chicago, I just smell smog.
Anyway, the weekend was wonderful. Heather and I spent time climbing Camelback Mountain (not all the way!), and hanging out at a cool cafe down the street from her condo. We hung out by the pool.
Then I spent a few days with Sheri, visiting the Phoenix Art Museum, and the Chihuly installation at the Desert Botanic Gardens. It was a perfect break from job hunting (although I did a small freelance project while I was there!). And seeing so much beauty was food for the soul....
resist a cheap flight to the Valley of the Sun. Mind you, this was a week before I got
laid off. I saw bargain basement prices for flights from Chicago to Phoenix, and I went for it. Since I could crash at my friend Sheri's house, I figured I couldn't beat a short long-weekend vacation with one of my best friends, and also see another good friend, Heather, while I was there.
Then I got laid off. "I can't go." I told David. "We can't afford it!" But I had already paid for the ticket and it was non-refundable. So I could either go for the weekend, or waste a ticket which we had already paid for. Plus, David practically forced me to go. I think he was tired of being around a wife suffering from season affective disorder.
So I went....
A trip to Arizona is more than just a warm-weather vacation for me. It's a chance to see a friend I've known since I was 12. And a chance to reconnect with my good friend, Heather, who was someone I hung out with a lot before she moved South and before I was married.
I hadn't seen her since my wedding, and I missed her.
The first thing I noticed when I landed in Arizona was the sun, of course, and the light. The light is so different there. It's more "yellow" than in Chicago. In Chicago, the sun casts a cool light. In Arizona, it's a warmer color. Why is that? And the smells! I would take a walk and smell the orange trees, and something that smelled like sage. In Chicago, I just smell smog.
Anyway, the weekend was wonderful. Heather and I spent time climbing Camelback Mountain (not all the way!), and hanging out at a cool cafe down the street from her condo. We hung out by the pool.
Then I spent a few days with Sheri, visiting the Phoenix Art Museum, and the Chihuly installation at the Desert Botanic Gardens. It was a perfect break from job hunting (although I did a small freelance project while I was there!). And seeing so much beauty was food for the soul....
Monday, March 09, 2009
Facebook, we have a problem....
Dear Facebook,
I don’t exactly know how to tell you this – so I’ll just say it.
I’m breaking up with you.
I know I owe you an explanation. It’s me. Really. It’s not you.
You see, at first I was enamored with you. You were my ticket to an exciting social life. Being an introvert, you gave me over 100 friends. Think of that. Me, a bookish middle-aged homebody collecting over 100 friends in just a few weeks! I finally felt popular, cool and hip.
I loved you for that.
Of course, most of the friends I collected were nieces, nephews, sisters, brother, my husband and old college friends I haven’t talked to in 20 years. But hey, it made me feel good that so many people “friended” me.
I loved spending hours with you. In our honeymoon phase, I couldn’t get enough of you. I wanted to know what my friends were doing every minute. I would read the latest update from that guy I barely knew in college, and see photos documenting my friends’ seemingly perfect lives. I stalked my friends’ walls to find out what was going on in their worlds. I no longer had to pick up the phone to find out. I just had to click on their wall, and I’d know how they were feeling, what they were doing, and what time they were going to bed.
In the first months of our love, I wrote and rewrote my status, trying to come up with something witty and smart. I carefully edited and cropped the photos I posted. I didn’t want anyone to see me at a bad angle. Maybe if I cropped the photos just right, I might bear a slight resemblance to Tea Leoni and acquaintances I hadn’t seen in years would think, “Hey, she’s really aged well! She looks happy and successful!’
I craved comments. They reminded me that people were noticing me. Little ol’ me! They were interested that I just had oatmeal for breakfast. And they cared that I had survived a hellish commute on the train. Never before had anyone been so interested in the mundane details of my life. It made me feel loved.
I thought about you constantly. Even at work. I logged on in-between projects, hoping none of my colleagues would notice I was updating my status instead of working. I couldn’t get you off of my mind.
But then everything changed.
I started feeling empty and bad whenever we were together. I realized that my friends seemed interested in my photos and status updates. But often, that was the extent of our friendship. It was my fault just as much as theirs. I was just as guilty of merely trading status updates instead of picking up the phone and asking someone to meet me for coffee. But still, I felt vaguely bad that our friendship didn’t go beyond our virtual walls.
And I realized I felt jealous. I started comparing the carefully selected photos of my friends with my own carefully cropped photos. And guess what – I didn’t measure up. I started feeling like I needed to be something more – more successful to impress that old college friend. More beautiful, so that I would get more comments (and the right kind of comments) on my photos. More witty in order to prompt people to react to my status updates. And more financially stable so I could post pictures of a wonderful beach vacation.
I just can’t do it anymore, Facebook. You’re slowing stealing my soul and making me dissatisfied with the life God has given me. Spending too much time with you caused me to want to be someone different than who God has created me to be.
I think I deserve to spend time with someone who likes me for who I am, and knows the real me. The me who is more complex that what could ever be expressed in a 10 word status update.
All of those hours I’ve spend browsing the photos of my 100+ friends, and reading their wall postings? Those are hours I could have been writing a novel, or spending time with my husband, or knitting or painting or having coffee with a friend getting to know them and all of their joys and struggles and disappointments – not their Facebook persona.
I’ve decided I’d rather have real, deep, meaningful friends than the kind you offer. I want real community. Not brief, status updates. I want real, live flesh and blood hugs, not a little icon placed on my virtual wall.
Don’t get me wrong. You’ve given me a lot. A chance to connect with old friends. A way to see photos of my nieces and nephews. A way to keep up to date on the latest news.
But I don’t think that’s enough to keep us in a long-term relationship. I will miss you, and remember the wonderful times we had together.
I need to find myself again. And find my community.
And you know, God doesn’t even have a profile on Facebook, so I have to log out in order to be friends with him. I think I owe him some status updates.
So, goodbye for now, Facebook.
Don’t try to contact me or send me status updates. I will be busy living my life.
I don’t exactly know how to tell you this – so I’ll just say it.
I’m breaking up with you.
I know I owe you an explanation. It’s me. Really. It’s not you.
You see, at first I was enamored with you. You were my ticket to an exciting social life. Being an introvert, you gave me over 100 friends. Think of that. Me, a bookish middle-aged homebody collecting over 100 friends in just a few weeks! I finally felt popular, cool and hip.
I loved you for that.
Of course, most of the friends I collected were nieces, nephews, sisters, brother, my husband and old college friends I haven’t talked to in 20 years. But hey, it made me feel good that so many people “friended” me.
I loved spending hours with you. In our honeymoon phase, I couldn’t get enough of you. I wanted to know what my friends were doing every minute. I would read the latest update from that guy I barely knew in college, and see photos documenting my friends’ seemingly perfect lives. I stalked my friends’ walls to find out what was going on in their worlds. I no longer had to pick up the phone to find out. I just had to click on their wall, and I’d know how they were feeling, what they were doing, and what time they were going to bed.
In the first months of our love, I wrote and rewrote my status, trying to come up with something witty and smart. I carefully edited and cropped the photos I posted. I didn’t want anyone to see me at a bad angle. Maybe if I cropped the photos just right, I might bear a slight resemblance to Tea Leoni and acquaintances I hadn’t seen in years would think, “Hey, she’s really aged well! She looks happy and successful!’
I craved comments. They reminded me that people were noticing me. Little ol’ me! They were interested that I just had oatmeal for breakfast. And they cared that I had survived a hellish commute on the train. Never before had anyone been so interested in the mundane details of my life. It made me feel loved.
I thought about you constantly. Even at work. I logged on in-between projects, hoping none of my colleagues would notice I was updating my status instead of working. I couldn’t get you off of my mind.
But then everything changed.
I started feeling empty and bad whenever we were together. I realized that my friends seemed interested in my photos and status updates. But often, that was the extent of our friendship. It was my fault just as much as theirs. I was just as guilty of merely trading status updates instead of picking up the phone and asking someone to meet me for coffee. But still, I felt vaguely bad that our friendship didn’t go beyond our virtual walls.
And I realized I felt jealous. I started comparing the carefully selected photos of my friends with my own carefully cropped photos. And guess what – I didn’t measure up. I started feeling like I needed to be something more – more successful to impress that old college friend. More beautiful, so that I would get more comments (and the right kind of comments) on my photos. More witty in order to prompt people to react to my status updates. And more financially stable so I could post pictures of a wonderful beach vacation.
I just can’t do it anymore, Facebook. You’re slowing stealing my soul and making me dissatisfied with the life God has given me. Spending too much time with you caused me to want to be someone different than who God has created me to be.
I think I deserve to spend time with someone who likes me for who I am, and knows the real me. The me who is more complex that what could ever be expressed in a 10 word status update.
All of those hours I’ve spend browsing the photos of my 100+ friends, and reading their wall postings? Those are hours I could have been writing a novel, or spending time with my husband, or knitting or painting or having coffee with a friend getting to know them and all of their joys and struggles and disappointments – not their Facebook persona.
I’ve decided I’d rather have real, deep, meaningful friends than the kind you offer. I want real community. Not brief, status updates. I want real, live flesh and blood hugs, not a little icon placed on my virtual wall.
Don’t get me wrong. You’ve given me a lot. A chance to connect with old friends. A way to see photos of my nieces and nephews. A way to keep up to date on the latest news.
But I don’t think that’s enough to keep us in a long-term relationship. I will miss you, and remember the wonderful times we had together.
I need to find myself again. And find my community.
And you know, God doesn’t even have a profile on Facebook, so I have to log out in order to be friends with him. I think I owe him some status updates.
So, goodbye for now, Facebook.
Don’t try to contact me or send me status updates. I will be busy living my life.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Unemployment: Day 9
I suppose I'm typical of most people who get laid off. There's a whole bunch of emotions -- anger, fear, shame, sadness, panic, loss of control, self-doubt. At first, after a day and a half of crying and panic, I felt a surge of hopefulness and calm. I started enjoying sleeping in, got a few leads on freelance projects, was distracted from my panic by furiously updating my resume and web site. Decided to trust God.
But that only lasted a few days. Then I started once again thinking about our situation. David's in school fulltime, has an internship, and a fellowship. He doesn't have enough time in his days to work more than 15 - 20 hours a week. So it's up to me to fill in the rest of the income gap. With the economy the way it is, I'm imagining thousands of resumes, like an email tsunami, crashing simultaniously into the inboxes of the HR departments of the various companies I'm applying to. I email resumes, or follow up on a freelance lead, and then stare at my computer, waiting for a response. It's really enough to make one as CRAZY as a cat chased by a vacuum cleaner.
I try to create order in my day. Get up, take shower, check email, look for jobs, send out resumes, revise resume to make it sound more "creative and hip", wait. And wait some more. Try to think of people I can contact. Rinse, repeat.
At some point, I pry myself away from my computer and go to the gym. I'm doing everything I can to remain sane. Working out helps. I might be unemployed, but damn, I'm going to be the best-looking, svelt unemployed person to walk the streets of Chicago. It's sort of like seeing an old boyfriend and wanting to look hot so he'll regret ever dumping you. I'm imagining myself bumping into one of my old co-workers 20 pounds lighter, with a glowing tan, and casually saying "Oh, getting laid off was the BEST THING that's ever happened to me!" As they trudge back to their dark, dank cubicle.
I've noticed something good in all of this. It seems like people are becoming more compassionate. Many have lost jobs, or lost money in the stock market, or know of a friend or relative who lost a job. In our mutual economic panic, we're becoming more human, I think. Our downstairs neighbors, who we rarely see, invited us out for breakfast last Saturday. An incredibly shy classmate of David's stopped him in the hallway at school and hugged him. A freelance contact of mine, whom I've worked with but don't know well, sent me a compassionate email, vowing to help me find work. We've taken our eyes off of our money, work, achievements, things, and started looking at one another. Instead of buying that HDTV, we're helping each other through this difficult situation.
It's a good thing.
Now excuse me while I go check my email again.
But that only lasted a few days. Then I started once again thinking about our situation. David's in school fulltime, has an internship, and a fellowship. He doesn't have enough time in his days to work more than 15 - 20 hours a week. So it's up to me to fill in the rest of the income gap. With the economy the way it is, I'm imagining thousands of resumes, like an email tsunami, crashing simultaniously into the inboxes of the HR departments of the various companies I'm applying to. I email resumes, or follow up on a freelance lead, and then stare at my computer, waiting for a response. It's really enough to make one as CRAZY as a cat chased by a vacuum cleaner.
I try to create order in my day. Get up, take shower, check email, look for jobs, send out resumes, revise resume to make it sound more "creative and hip", wait. And wait some more. Try to think of people I can contact. Rinse, repeat.
At some point, I pry myself away from my computer and go to the gym. I'm doing everything I can to remain sane. Working out helps. I might be unemployed, but damn, I'm going to be the best-looking, svelt unemployed person to walk the streets of Chicago. It's sort of like seeing an old boyfriend and wanting to look hot so he'll regret ever dumping you. I'm imagining myself bumping into one of my old co-workers 20 pounds lighter, with a glowing tan, and casually saying "Oh, getting laid off was the BEST THING that's ever happened to me!" As they trudge back to their dark, dank cubicle.
I've noticed something good in all of this. It seems like people are becoming more compassionate. Many have lost jobs, or lost money in the stock market, or know of a friend or relative who lost a job. In our mutual economic panic, we're becoming more human, I think. Our downstairs neighbors, who we rarely see, invited us out for breakfast last Saturday. An incredibly shy classmate of David's stopped him in the hallway at school and hugged him. A freelance contact of mine, whom I've worked with but don't know well, sent me a compassionate email, vowing to help me find work. We've taken our eyes off of our money, work, achievements, things, and started looking at one another. Instead of buying that HDTV, we're helping each other through this difficult situation.
It's a good thing.
Now excuse me while I go check my email again.
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