Funny how I no longer have to think about how many days until my birthday. It’s incredibly close.
A free pass…
My therapist recommended I give myself a free pass these coming two weeks. This blog has in many ways helped quell my anxiety over turning 30 (which is really about the larger issues confronting the fear I encounter daily, confronting the expectations I have for myself compared to what I have actually accomplished, etc). I fully expect to feel either a complete “let down” at this build up, or on the other hand, feel exhilarated and liberated over turning 30. I don’t expect to feel sad or especially depressed on the day of my birthday or the day after. I know I will be fine. On the other hand, I have artificially built up this day. Counting down to something highlights it in a way that it would not have been before. And a 30th birthday highlight enough in anyone’s life. So…I’m to give myself a break…I may feel worthless, depressed, anxious, scared, and who knows…maybe even some overinflated good things…in the 12 days I have left. And that’s OK. Wow, 12 days “I have left.” Dead man walking, indeed.
Community – the clincher
Whether it be Ross, Rachel, Chandler, and Monica at the Central Perk, the office mates by the coffee machine, your college sorority, your band camp buddies, or (gasp) even your tiny dysfunctional nuclear family – community is everything. Everything. And I know I’ve lacked it in a substantial way since moving to Israel. However, what I didn’t know is how strong an effect this has had on the fabric of my life. When we don’t have a routine (work = the same people depending on you doing a task every day; family = washing dishes and laundry and helping each other with essential basics; friends: comfort and support from ordinary things like a weekly cup a joe) it’s very difficult, and for me nearly impossible, to get anything done. I am terrible at self discipline, as you would know if you’ve read any of my past posts here. This is a sort of catch 22 situation, as this is almost impossible to achieve without help…but I can’t get the everyday help of a support system without working at it… All in all, the longer you are alone, the harder it is to find and “fit into” a group. And the longer you are alone, the more difficult everything is in life.
Being seen
What is that crucial element of being in an integral group? It doesn’t matter if it’s work or friends or family or a social niche of some sort. What all of these things have in common is that each member is required to notice the others and be noticed in exchange. It lends itself to caring for others, and in turn being cared for. It’s why the word network is so appropriate. A web, with one strand connected to many others, supporting many others, while being supported by many others. The fewer strands, the weaker the web. The more strands, the stronger everyone is.
Being alone means that on a regular basis there are many fewer people noticing me, caring about me, depending on me, than ever before. When I had an interesting and fairly important job, I was needed on many levels and many people needed me. The more friends I had, the more natural it became to see them regularly, to depend on them regularly, and for them to depend on me.
And the fact that I am now aware that I am not being thought about, that I am not being seen, kind of really hurts. It’s another perspective to the shape of my life. It makes me want to create community, and create one in a hurry. Applying to a doctoral program sounds pretty darned great. Not necessarily for the career or interest motivations. But for there being a lot of the kind of people I tend to gravitate towards, around me a lot. I don’t know if this is a good answer. But seeing my situation in this light…feels funny. I know I have friends all over the world. Some of them great friends. Really great friends. But the fact that we have no common routine, no common rituals, means that we do not spend much of any time thinking about each other with any regularity. And that sucks.
It means I need to make a huge effort, perhaps a very difficult and un-fruitful effort at first, to surround myself, and to find a way to regularly include friends. Calling people every other week, getting together once or twice a month, is not going to cut it. Because I’m drowning here. I’m having trouble finding work, finishing my editing, even identifying who it is that I am anymore, with my being alone so much of the time. And I don’t want my 31st birthday to be spent wondering if anyone is going to show up at my party. I want to know it’s going to be great, whatever happens. I want to be such a good and dependable friend to others that I will have that support in turn.
Now if only I didn’t “like and enjoy” being alone so damned much…
I watched the entire 7th season of the West Wing today. That’s it. Did some laundry (miracles do happen). Bought some sushi to take home to my sister.
All this Saturday amazingness when I should be editing, applying for work, becoming entrepreneurial, packing for my move next week, seeing friends, planning my birthday party, and a dozen other more important meaningful things.
It begs the question of life’s meaning again. Not meaning. Maybe purpose is a better word. If a person gets up and works a mundane job, but goes home, enjoys their dinner, loves their sit-coms, occasionally goes on vacation, and lives their life without much of any regret, that must be perfectly OK. Most people are like this, I think. Why am I different? Because I was raised to think I could do something significant to change the world and leave my mark on it? Why am I miserable? Because I don’t have the balls or the skills or the self esteem or the training (maybe) to fulfill my potential or dreams or whatever?
Whatever. But I have got to come to terms that I make my own bed, and I do indeed sleep in it. If I don’t like where I am, I’m the only one to blame. And if my book is moving slowly, it’s me that’s the slow mover. And if I spend a Saturday watching the West Wing, that’s what I did. And it’s OK. It’s OK because I allowed it, and I told myself that I would not feel badly about it. Usually, I would (or I should) feel horrible about zoning out and twiddling my thumbs and not forwarding my goals.
Today’s the day I am being productive. Not “will be” and not “hope to be.” I saw my therapist yesterday, and we discussed daily goals, being accountable, etc. I have tasks for the week. And I will achieve them.
However, I did procrastinate…doing something fabulous for my parents… See, it’s their anniversary today. 31 years. Believe me, it’s been a rollercoaster. I’ve been around for almost 30 of these 31 years. I should know. You know how you look at some people’s relationship and think, “why don’t they just split up…they’d be happier…” Well, that’s kind of what I have been thinking about my parents, for say, 25 years. I guess they’re kind of addicted to their own drama.
It took me 2-3 hours to build. I’m still not quite sure why I did it. But the idea took hold (was doing some research on giving them a fun e-card…and nothing struck me as any good…and so I wanted to make my own e-card…and this is what came out).
For the rest of the week, I’ll be writing daily at a cafe for a couple hours. And I’ll keep doing the networking, the job stuff, and calling friends.
Piece of cake, right? Let’s hope so. No, I know so. Piece of cake.
Sarah Palin resigned as governor giving no reasons why.
Michael Jackson is dead.
The (maybe) revolution in Iran has fallen off the front pages.
And I can do nothing but twiddle my thumbs, not care a feather or a fig, and take a personality test that should show me the real direction I should be going toward in my dating exploits.
Uh huh. Yeah.
It’s July 4th, and I’m not at a parade eating a brat, watching grown men in fezzes driving tiny cars and covering my ears at the live cannons toted by the Civil War reenactors. Instead, I’m burning up in a bathing suit in a far too sunny Tel Aviv flat, alternating between reading a bad book, watching BBC tv, and drinking herbal tea. And I kinda really wish I were at the parade or the local fair or a friendly barbecue. Ah, the life of an expat. Always between worlds. It’s my yearly painful push pull struggle with patriotism coming to a head. But I won’t let it bother me too much. I think I can handle it. Who doesn’t love a nice cold bottle of white wine, the “Antiques Roadshow,” and Dan Brown’s petty prose? A decent way to spend the holy sabbath, right?
So…as a brief update on my last post, about being consistent, doing things every day…I’ve not been entirely successful. Of course. And I have no excuse, and I don’t know why. I must try harder. Period. What I have done is apply to tons of jobs. And network. And I may have a job very soon. Which is great. Really great. Not a dream job, but a job that pays more than minimum wage, a job in an office, with air conditioning, that will help me get back on my feet financially after going through my savings these last 8-9 months. I have also been sleeping much better, although I’ve not made my midnight nighty-night deadline. I have been calling friends. AND I have been making a decent effort to work earlier in the day…as in before noon, although I’ve tried for before 10 am. Not bad. Except for the major thing, the first thing on the list: working on my book.
Avoiding the book is not new. I could have had it done in much better shape a year ago or even more. I am so scared, so afraid of it failing…or you could say the flip…I’m so afraid of it succeeding wildly…that I prefer to default and not try at all. But that would be cowardly. I do occasionally triumph over my cowardice, hence, the phase when I did nothing but finish the book to the end…the stroke of brilliant courage that had me enlist and hire a critic/teacher. Now, I need to see it to a close. It’s just so much easier to use the current situation (financial panic/instability), that I’m blinded. Quite blind. I need to get over it. Do small things. Ease into it. Not be frightened to open the documents. Do some reading, some research. And then it should work like clockwork again. It’s not easy, but the task is virtually impossible if I don’t even begin.
Maybe it has to do with my personality type. So, I was randomly surfing HuffPo and came across this article, all about how everyone has a type. The article leads to an article and quiz on Chemistry.com. And I’m always up for a pseudo-scientific quiz. And I found out, according to the quiz, that I am a Negotiator (primary personality type) / Director (secondary personality type). And, it says that I’m attracted to the sort of opposite combination (Director/Negotiator). Weird thing is, I think I’m even, not primary/secondary. I might even be more of a director than a negotiator. Here are my results. Or maybe the results were right…I need to stop “negotiating” with myself and be more “direct” and force myself to drop everything and WORK ON THAT BOOK! Yes. In any case, the article and quiz were quite convincing, so I do recommend it to those singletons who are interested in honing their dating skills. There are apparently only four types: directors, explorers, negotiators, and builders…and if we can identify what we are, and what is the best match for us…we can more easily identify it…right? Let’s hope.
As for me…this is as close as I’ll get to my favorite Shriners this year…have a great Independence Day, all! Eat a brat for me!
Discipline. Rather, self-discipline. AND consistency. Two very big issues of mine. When I work for other people, or when I’m in a structured situation like in a university, I meet my deadlines. I don’t let other people or myself down. It’s hard. I wait until the last minute a lot. But I do it. And I succeed. Perhaps it’s why I have thrived in very deadline driven places and occupations. I’m an excellent student and an excellent publicist.
On my own, however, I’m so crappy at self-discipline, I feel like I regularly fail myself. Is it because I have nobody to “please,” nobody looking over my shoulder and judging me? Am I incapable of function without external criticism and expectation?
What am I getting to here? I don’t know the answers to why I am this way. It relates to a lot of what I talk about with my therapist, of course. What I do know is that this pattern of scary inactivity and shame has to stop. Must. I’m an adult. I have so much going for me. If I don’t want to tread water, I don’t have to. I just have to make a decision, create a plan, and stick to it. Even if nobody is watching.
So, what to do? Where to start? I think a good thing to begin with is to establish a routine. Make sure there are things that I do every day. Not once or twice per week. Every day. Why? Because you’re more likely to be successful if there’s no way to get out of it (i.e. oh, it’s my weekly task, but I’m so busy, I’ll do it tomorrow). Sure, I’ve got some weekly things (primarily my therapist and some other semi-regular doctors’ appointments). They help to keep me “human” and get me out of the house. It’s a good start. But it’s nowhere near enough. Nowhere near enough. This is an article from HuffPo on the topic. It got me thinking, and I even bookmarked this specific page on my toolbar. I look at it daily.
And now, I’ve got to implement some of this. Now. I want to be able to look back at this month and know that I work hard and achieved some results. I want to be proud of myself on this big birthday.
To Do Every Day for 29 Days (and maybe much more…)
Write/edit my book for at least one hour, and preferable two or three.
Apply to three jobs/send three resumes to employment agencies.
Call at least two friends.
Get at least six hours of sleep every night and attempt to go to sleep before midnight.
Begin the above “work” in the morning hours (i.e. before 10 am).
I think these things are do-able. It’s a short list. Which is good. Because it still looks daunting to me. Imagine – the fact that going to bed at midnight and forcing myself to sleep six straight hours being “scary” to me. However, everything on this list is easy as apple pie. I am very capable. I finished writing this book. I did. Yes, editing is hard. Harder. But I think I’ve reached a mountain peak in this process. It’s hard to go down, sometimes harder than going up, sure. But this time, I can clearly see where I’m going, right? And the resume thing? It has to be done. I should perhaps add door-knocking or follow-up calling, etc, to the list, but I don’t think it’s realistic to do daily. If I do three a day, that’s 15 per week. And truth be told, once you apply to one or two jobs online, it’s just as easy to apply to five or ten. It’s just time consuming. Not “difficult.” So if I can stick to my guns here, I’ll inevitably be applying to more than three per day.
Good plan. Yes, good plan. At the end of the month, I should have a far more solid draft of my book, ready to go out to agents and publishers. And I may have a part time, full time, or contract kind of job. And these are things I need. I need them. I want to be able to hold my head high come July 31. I want to round off this decade in style. With some dignity.
I am in paradise. I’m not kidding. It’s hard to believe.
Ojai is a town about 90 miles north and a bit west of LA. It’s about 30 miles from Santa Barbara and 13 north of Ventura, if that gives you an idea. I’m not one for California geography. This is perhaps the fourth or fifth time I’ve ever been in the state, and the only time not in a big city. Ojai is not on the coast. It’s a beautiful sun-dappled valley full of lush orange groves and vineyards and ranches surrounded by mountains. They filmed a movie about Shangri-la here. It’s that beautiful. I’m pinching myself.
I’m in Ojai for the wedding of a dear friend, and I’m so incredibly tickled that I am here. I love weddings. In this crazy chaotic war-stricken stressful world, the thought of celebrating love, just for the sake of it, makes the tears well up in my eyes. And it’s Ojai. So beautiful, I don’t know what I did to deserve coming here. Sounds funny to think of it that way. How much fun will it be to spend the weekend here, going to funky little shops, hiking in the mountains, seeing old friends, and of course, getting all gussied up in my very best formalwear for a great celebration.
It sucks that there is a downside. No, no, there isn’t. But there always is. Perhaps if I write about my stinking awful side here, I can get over it and just get on with enjoying myself. Or at least trying to.
Are you ever NOT able to enjoy yourself because you know that the situation you are in is temporary? Or perhaps you’re the kind of person who enjoys yourself more BECAUSE a situation is temporary. Vacations. You go away for a week. It’s like, 3 -2 -1 – GO! Have fun, NOW! Because you have to go back to your ordinariness and troubles and stress sooner than you think. When I arrived, my jaw dropped. It is so beautiful here. And a very kind women, a friend of the bride’s family, offered her guest house to guests of the wedding coming from far away. And it’s the most lovely little house you can picture. Stone walls, high wooden beamed ceilings, perfect elegant decor, large windows, large patios all around the house, a screened in porch which acts as a second living room…it’s hardly a guest house…it’s just a gorgeous little two-bedroom house beside a much larger house. It even has a large kitchen, a set of scrabble, and lots of cold beer and tea (which I’ll be replacing, of course, if I use). Part of me was so thrilled, so awe-struck, not just of the beauty and elegance of this house I have been given to enjoy for the weekend, but also of the generosity of such people who would freely give this gift to a stranger. Then my mind (and perhaps my paranoia) kicked in with thoughts of, “how can I best take advantage of this?” and “how can a thank my hosts and adequately show them my gratitude?” and “ya right, I’m not going to enjoy myself, knowing I only have 2-3 days here…it’s like being shown a glimpse of paradise and then having it whisked away…”
See, I’m not as gracious as people think. I fear that I must appear ungrateful. Being here, I feel that this is a place I would really like to spend a lot of time. This place is very close to the picture I have had in my head for years of what my living heaven on earth would be:
Rural, yet somehow cultured. Ojai has festivals, a playwrights’ theater, music concerts, and much more.
Rural, yet close enough to civilization, and good civilization at that (think an hour and a bit outside of Paris or Rome). LA is not a European cultural mecca…but it is exciting in its way and large and important.
A modest home. Yes, modest. And perhaps even the chance to build it (or design it, or have it built for me with my input, etc). See, I don’t care about being wealthy. I just don’t want to worry about money all the time. I don’t want more than I need. Because the second I do have a bit of cash, even these days, I give it away to my alma mater or charities or arts organizations.
A garden. Veggies. Herbs. Color. I want English roses and just fields of basil.
A beautiful warm kitchen in the center of the home.
Simple, elegant, comfortable decor.
Books. Lots of books.
A perfect office. With a perfect armchair.
Warmth. Kindness. Generosity.
That’s what I want. I want an office where I can be productive, write my novels and philosophical treatises and cookbooks and travel guides and somehow get paid to do it. And a home where I feel safe and free and where I can make others feel safe and free and loved. That’s it. And yes, Ojai is a picture postcard. And it is the haven of second homes of the rich and famous. And I’ll probably never live here. But it’s so nice to see it and experience it. And also quite devastating. Will I ever achieve even a fraction of that picture that hangs by a thread on the walls of my psyche?
I was restless trying to sleep last night. My birthday is really soon. Under three months. And maybe it’s just my depressive tendencies. Maybe it’s low self-esteem. But I really, really, for a major flash, saw this as a completely wasted year. In the next flash of a moment, I frantically started listing things that I’ve already done this year. It went something like this:
Quit job that was bad for my soul
Went to India, a questionable time was had, but I went
I went to Ireland, and it was amazing, and it gave me career ideas and made a good friend
I went to Italy and Croatia and Greece and Turkey with the whole family, and even though I “just went,” it was an experience
I did complete a real first draft of the novel
The first draft of the novel was completely critiqued. Even though I’ve been petrified to do real work using this severe criticism, I got it critiqued and theory can get it finished and sent out soon…
I have been dating. Kind of. Without great effort. But it’s kind of something.
Therapy has been good.
Blogging has been fun and seems productive, even though I don’t get paid for it.
Found a cool part part part time job leading wine tastings
Cooked a lot of scrummy family meals for my uncle and cousins
Got two great cats
Have made huge strides in being a clean, responsible adult who does laundry and makes her bed more than once in a blue moon
Have really made a big effort to see friends, and it’s paying off, even though I’ve backpedaled and slumped in spurts.
I learned I could draw, really well.
Professionally catered one giant birthday party
I wrote a small handful of culinary articles for a Jewish magazine (maybe I should reprint them here…I’m not sure, though, any takers?)
I can probably add a bit here and there. I guess what’s missing here is the “career” category. Nothing that I can slap a label on that says success. But it’s been interesting. And it’s not over. I have made huge strides in completing many, many, many of my “things to do before 30” list.
So, in order to salvage my silly self and ego and be orderly, here are a few more concrete things I want DONE by July 31:
Finish a second draft of the novel
Send out samples and intro letters to agents and publishers
Find paid work I don’t hate (even if it’s very part time waitressing, I need some self-respecting income to start paying rent because…)
I need to move out of my current depressing digs and into a home. I am supposedly in the works to do so and move in with my sister into an apartment my mother purchased last year, in a chi chi awesome part of town, close to the beach, designer shops, cafes, an organic grocery store, you name it. Thing is – ties to Mom, and having to live with a sometimes emotionally-unstable sister. Other thing is, I will be paying rent, so I will technically be a tenant. With rights. It’s a much bigger place with a very hip layout and a decked out roof garden with direct access from our living room, which means the the cats will be happy, and there may just be enough physical space to spread out in case my sister goes ballistic. Then, there are the days when I want to run screaming from the hills, move out of town, or to a crappy far away neighborhood I can afford in order to truly be independent. But I don’t think this isn’t independent. I mean, if I pay rent, I pay rent. And I’m not going to be underpaying, here. It’s just a gorgeous lot of apartment. And I don’t have to look for it. It’s there, because it was bought by my selfish self-centered witch of a mother who intends to use it as her very own every time she’s in town (which means, where the hell do I go…tenants’ rights?). I’m going to stop here. No I’m not. Because I sound like a real bitch talking about my mother this way. I do love her, and I do a lot for her, believe me. She doesn’t just come for a visit, you see, when I could fix up a guest bed and cook a celebratory brunch. She comes for a month or two, takes over everything, and uses the place like it’s hers. No asking to use things. Inviting her friends over at all hours. Leaves her things everywhere. Doesn’t clean. Treats us like children. She’s the roommate from hell. Read The Drama of the Gifted Child. That’s my mom. Narcisist. With a capital ‘N.’ She’s the reason for a majority of my neuroses and major character flaws and huge therapy bills. Period. We don’t get along, and it’s for nothing obvious that you can put a finger on because the whole world thinks she’s a loveable eccentric. She just makes my skin crawl. Now I’m done.
Make a longer-term plan for income and creativity balance. Because I have novel #2 in the works. Very loose outline. But I’m excited. Even if nobody ever reads what I write, I’m a writer, right? Why do I have to convince myself…
These things seem reasonable. Yes, they do. If I work hard. 2+ months? Piece of cake. You are all witnesses! I have to move on this people. Go ahead and ask me how the editing is going — go ahead — and don’t let me evade the questions…
Have a great day…I am, with friends in Jerusalem. I love the productivity that time-crunches push you into!
When I get back on January 2nd, I immediately begin a 6-month manuscript workshop with an excellent instructor and small group to get my book beaten into shape enough for me to send to agents and publishers.
Also on January 2nd, I begin my life as a full-time freelance writer/food writer and personal chef. I am already creating a business plan, of sorts, and I at least own the textbook bible how-to of setting up this kind of business (thanks to B).
I am shocked. I am shocked and stunned and awe-struck because I am achieving my goals. I wrote them down. First, here in this blog, and second, on paper this week. And I’m checking off the list. I am nowhere near professional success…but I’m not on square one. And I am much nearer personal success than I had believed. I have accomplished or am about to accomplish the first four items on my list: finish the book; go to India; get a pet; find career/money/happiness balance.
One – I’ve signed up for the manuscript workshop, it’s costing a lot, I have to work hard on the thing even before it starts (in the 2.5 weeks I have!), and I’ll be damned if I don’t make something of it with all of this structure I’m creating.
Two – I got my ticket to India today! I go for a month. I wish it could be for two, but a month is a long trip, still. I am being realistic. I can’t see all of the country in this amount of time. But I can focus on three or four regions, have a good time, and learn something. I’m planning on taking classes on Punjabi and Kerala cuisines, and really try to get an amateur-mastery level before I come back. Plus — I have number three to worry about…
Three – I adopted two cats on August 8 of this year. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And I don’t think I would have done it otherwise and under different circumstances. My sister asked me. It was her last day on her archaeological dig, and the all kittens the site manager had brought with him from home to be adopted had been — apart from two. I suspect they were the runt and the bad egg. However, Cassiopeia (the runt) and Fischer (the bad egg, aka the tornado) have been wonderful. After I got used to them. The first month or two were very hard. Very hard. I always thought I was a pet person. Instant companionship. I felt invaded. That my life was taken away from me. My only safe haven in Israel destroyed. But apart from keeping them from chewing on precious artwork (I live in my grandfather’s old art studio), and having to empty a litter box, they’re my family now. I don’t love them like I love people. But it’s nice not to be alone.
Four – Figure out the work/life/money/creativity – well, I’m doing it. I quit the job that was horribly for me in many, many ways. And I’m going to put in a real, hard-working, 6-month effort at food and writing and food writing.
So, there you have it. Living my dream. Still, I’m alone on a Thursday night (like Friday night everywhere else in the world). But it’s better. I talked to several friends today, and I have some plans for the weekend. No dating. Kind of. Mr 23 is still loitering in the outside lobby of my social life. But tonight, I have an iMac, two (thankfully) sleepy cats, an apartment to clean, some old movies, a novel to edit, and a trip to India to plan.
Congratulate me, if you will, if you’ve read this far. And let me know if you have suggestions for India. I’m a (nearly) blank slate. You know, you can do it, too. How simple it is. Just write it down, and check the items off as you go.
Welcome!
This is my countdown to my 30th birthday. Thanks for stopping by.
This life I’m on often feels like a great adventure, and it is my pleasure to share it with anyone who is interested.
I am a writer and chef. I am an American woman living in Tel Aviv, editing my ... Continue reading »
