Stealing Golf Clubs to Play in the Rain

The 'Worth Having'

2009-09-14T13:17:00.000-07:00

Do you remember that old adage: "Nothing worth having comes easy"?
I am a living exhibit on the subject, placed on this earth maybe only to serve as evidence in support of this theory. Every time I embark on a journey to improve my life, knowing full well it will be a major adjustment, it instead turns into a battle of epic proportions. Uprooting my life for a 3-month internship 3 hours away becomes complicated by serious illness, car accidents and ER visits from Hell. Starting graduate school turns into an exercise in computer malfunctions and complications with a new computer sprouting legs and apparently walking away, never mind having the wrong textbook delivered and a glitch in my homework submission system.
At some point, I've had all I can take. I throw in the proverbial towel, turn my face skyward and give up. Last Wednesday I suffered a moment of defeat; asking please please, can I have a respite, this is all I can take, thank you.
Apparently, some one is listening.

The Color of Courage

2009-06-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at my desk when it hits me. My eyes well up with tears and I'm sure my voice would crack if I could bring myself to speak. My brain tells my heart to save it, at least until I'm behind the shield of my own walls; then I can mourn them.
The trivial nature of ALL my concerns strikes with the force of a Basij baton, but I lack the courage to withstand it. I try to let go - empty myself of the job, money, relationship worries that cloud true freedom - I try to become clear enough to reflect the colors of those I am struggling to emulate.
Their colors are more than that of a candidate - they are those of a movement. It is a statement of purpose, and a refusal to waste the lives that have already been spent in these streets. They are the "voice", the face that refuses to shy away, turned into the glaring light with courage and truth. People I've never known, who are standing and fighting and dying in a place I have no connection to; I will mourn them. But I will not wear black to show my respect and reverence - I will wear the color of courage, everyday, until it ends.

Selfishly Hot

2009-04-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

These past few days have been selfishly hot. The sun is relentless in his quest to drain the energy from this town, and I can't tell if it's the heavy air or heavy thoughts that are perched so happily on my chest, but it's making it nearly impossible to breathe. I lay in my sweltering room far into the night, begging the cool night air to advance and bring me sleep. The heat has made dozing short and fitful. The swirling thoughts that fill these hours are dizzying and relentless; they creep into my dreams and steal my peace.
I long to dive into the foggy lake I used to love. I miss the cool water slipping across my skin, from finger tips to toes, swallowing me whole - wishing for the short moment I'm underwater that I would in fact be devoured, and never surface to face the cruelty of the world again. But I always come up for air, reappearing as a small blip on the line between bliss and reality.

Nostalgia

2009-04-03T10:23:00.001-07:00

You ever have those bits of nostalgia, just random frames from a past viewed through rosy lenses? I'm having quite the attack this morning - for a time I know was fairly tormented while I was living it, but in hindsight was one of the best times of my life. My only regret was that I didn't live freer, didn't let go of my ego and my preconditions. Hiking through mud and puddles that had transitioned into full-on ponds. Rigged rope ladders down perilous cliffs and encounters with wildlife rarely shared with anyone else. Running from tides and forceful driftwood, grabbing our dry clothes and bounding over the dunes to safety. Bocce Ball on a beach somewhere, waiting for breaks and chasing waves through the car window. Bonfires with NFA-er's, and sleeping in the SUV, only to wake up to sand and the most beautiful sunshine I've ever seen.

Rifts

2009-03-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

I have this song stuck in my head from this morning - it's by The Killers and is the last song on the Sam's Town album, as well as the last song they play in concert. If we ever find ourselves in long conversations, you'll hear references to song lyrics and the like - but I'm not necessarily a music fanatic. I like what I like, and I love live music of most any kind (it's good for a Pisces' soul). I like quiet when I'm home - most of the time when I'm alone I don't have anything on, just so I can feel the solitude of the place. But when I'm out and about I love to have my headphones in and replace the monotony of the city with the melodies and musings of those much more eloquent than I. Maybe I look self absorbed, hiding in my own head, unconcerned with others and oblivious to my surroundings. Let them think it. The rhythm in my ears dictates the sight of their movements - so we're both thinking in mistaken terms, and equal in our misconceptions. And, for a change, it is not a violent prejudice that lasts - but one that is shrugged off by simply crossing the street and continuing across rifts, of the guitar variety, of course.

March on

2009-03-02T10:06:00.000-08:00

Somehow, someway, it is March. My 25th birthday is hurdling toward me like a clumsy fastball, destined to strike with force no matter which way I dodge. The day after my quarter-century revelries marks my one year anniversary in this job. One year! The days and weeks whispered by, some in eloquent poetry, others in crass prose, but all without notice. I have neglected mindfulness for self pity and chosen apathy above appreciation.
Even before the New Year I resolved to actively grow into my potential over the next twelve months. I've started to make necessary changes in my physical health - the least painful place to start. Excuses have been replaced by interval training, and 'inner-aisle' foods with farmer's market fare. Now it's time to start renovating my inner self - a trying process that even the sorest of sore muscles could not hold a candle to.
It is time to reclaim my appreciation and begin again down the path of mindfulness. I must remember my compassion, and follow my path where ever it leads me regardless of how uncomfortable my new reality becomes. It is March already, and 25 is threatening to flatten me on it's high-speed pursuit of old age. But with any luck, and a lot more work, I will be able to approach 26 with months of grace and the pursuit of happiness steadily underway.

Just My Perspective

2008-12-01T12:25:00.000-08:00

I feel like something is pressing down on me, like one of those machines that crushes past-their-prime cars in a junkyard. It must be the weight of 4 1/2 more days of this desk holding me back, this computer staring me down, these keystrokes falling painfully in my ears. A full work week carries with it a heaping portion of disdain and a measure of apathy only an American youth could muster.
My mind has this vicious cycle, though, that doesn't stop at loathing my employment. See, my mind wanders from loathing to disdain to apathy, and then into the woods of ungrateful snobbery and it's associated guilt. It's not enough that I don't want to be in this cubicle for another second, I feel my grace is lost and humility stomped when I start to take this steady paycheck for granted. When the resentment for these little walls sets it, so does the guilt; so many people are without a livelihood, who am I to be angry at mine? And the cycle tumbles wildly in my head, taking out all innocently bystanding thoughts and ambitions.
The only temporary relief I've found is a treadmill at the gym across the street. Some people feel like a treadmill is a pointless run to nowhere; a hamster wheel with no progress made. I, however, feel like I'm miles away from this desk after a few short minutes on the belt. At some point I'll get a runner's high, and hopefully get far enough up to be able to look down at my anger and see it in perspective.
I have every right to feel overqualified and over-intelligent for this job; there are very few things in my day that require more than vague attention and basic motor skills. I have every right to resent the stack of papers needing filing, given to me like they were a gift; this is not whatI have student loans for.
I should not, however, let this job eat my creativity like a light snack, or hunt my motivation for sport. The vicious tumbleweeds that have taken over my mind again on this Monday morning will not be allowed to persist into the afternoon. Today is too important.

Dear Internet

2008-11-06T16:42:00.000-08:00

Hello again big empty cyber space!
I know it's been a while since I've written, but I'm afraid I don't have much to tell you. Well sure, the U.S. has elected a young, eloquent black man President, the violence in the Congo is flaring up, and the economy is in the toilet - but you knew that. You are the internet, the portal that so many of us get our news from... how could you not know everything that's been happening?
Me? Well my life is the same, only I discovered my dog won't poo in the rain and a lot of my friends are conservative. Weird, I know... she's a dog, why the problem with the rain, right?
I have no plans for travel, despite taking a travel writing course and being an avid reader of travel websites. Living vicariously I guess.
I am still at my job... yes the one I don't care for. The money is talking louder now that there's a recession pending. Besides, I'm trying to get a freelance writing career off the ground... *cough-scoff*
That's about it from this end. What about you, what have you been up to?

Rose-Colored Glasses

2008-09-03T16:00:00.000-07:00

I remember multiple history professors warning us that people have a strong tendency to view the past through rose-colored glasses. I have succumb and am officially one of those people.

Recently, while trying to get my eyes to uncross from a morning full of data and spreadsheets, I found myself browsing the food service section of online job ads thinking to myself 'I have lots of coffee experience, I could be a barista at this place... ooo or this one.' I officially hung up my espresso apron just before leaving college and haven't looked back, until now. I used to make a mean cup'o'joe, but going back to minimum wage + tips doesn't seem like logical evolutionary growth for my career, or my bank account.

Thats when I realized I'm not longing for the job, I'm longing for the life I had during that time. I'm pretty sure everyone looks back at their college days with a sort of nostalgia that clouds the gratitude and progress of today; everyone looks back at that time with rose-colored glasses. I suppose in normal, productive, successful human being terms, I'm better off today than I was back then.

But as I sit in my cubicle watching the minutes slowly tick closer to 5pm, I start to wonder if I really want to judge my life in normal terms. My recent vacation - from work, computers, most phone calls, and all TV - was the healthiest I've felt in a long time. I feel perpetually... gross... when sitting at my desk day in and day out. My eyes feel like their failing, my stomache turns relentlessly, my wrists hurt and I'm trapped in one giant sinus flare-up; not to mention the awful case of office-butt I'm terrified I'm developing. Rose-colored glasses or not, I'm definitely longing for times past and jobs far removed from servers and cubicle walls.

Freedom from Tyranny

2008-08-06T13:41:00.000-07:00

It is a Wednesday, but in essence, a Friday. Late tonight I will board a plane, doze off with the help of an in-flight cocktail, and wake up in the Caribbean; my first formal paid vacation in my seedling of a career! As is to be expected, this pseudo-Friday's creep of the clock has been nothing short of agonizing. Several of my cubicle co-dwellers are out today, and the only sounds are the occasional laugh from the direction of upper management (laughter isn't allowed among us peons) and the droning hum of the towering servers in the closet behind me.
My workload for the day is more scant than a Vegas showgirl's wardrobe, so I've been splitting my time between Mahjong, research on travel and trying to look busy spackling and painting dinged up office walls; yes, my desk job has turned into a building maintenance job. When I returned to my desk from my painting adventures (let me tell you I'm no Picasso) I received the email that my supervisor had left for the day, citing a cold and need of sleep. I couldn't help but feel the slight tingle of freedom run up my spine; and then I wondered, when did it become that cubicle life became synonymous with living under tyranny? And how long is it going to take before my fellow 9-5ers and I stage the rebellion we so desperately need?
Ah but then we'd all be lost, for what would we covet if the sacred Paid Vacation was no longer held just a few hours out of reach on a Wednesday that breathes like a Friday?

Morning

2008-07-24T08:48:00.000-07:00

I've been up for several hours already, thanks to an early morning flight that's taking my significant other across the country as we speak. For the last two weeks I've had an extra person in my house, now I have one less than normal. It's a lonely thought knowing that the dog and I on our own for the next week, but this morning I couldn't help but bask in the quiet of an empty apartment.
Morning has never been my forte, but once I'm up and moving it's one of my favorite places to be. The lovely, slow pace of the sunrise reminds me to stop and gaze out at the long-legged birds stalking the shallow tides of the bay before I'm forced to scurry off to the bus stop. Most of the time the ride into the city is enjoyable in its own peculiar way; I get to be an observer of the hustle in the streets for a short time before having to become a participant. The speedy, tottering walk of women in high heels, the saunter of square-jawed black men in crisp white shirts, the unenthusiastically dutiful shuffle of those charged with keeping the plaza clean; they can all be missed when that hurried feeling kicks in at the first crosswalk counting down the seconds before traffic comes speeding back in your direction, and often doesn't end until after 5pm.

The beauty and the inspiration end as soon as the elevator starts moving toward the top floor of this splendid old building. I read an article the other day that talked about how being pigeonholed in a cubicle drains the life and creative energy out of a person; you're telling me. I don't know if its the lack of mental stimulation, the tedious repetitive tasks, or the coworkers I want to strangle every so often, but there's something about 9am that kills the tranquility of the morning and tends to ruin the rest of my day. But don't worry, I'm already planning my escape. I'll be 25 in March, and I've decided that its time for me to leave the North American continent, at least for a while, in pursuit of a lifestyle that stays inspired from dawn until well after dusk.

Fulfillment

2008-07-15T13:54:00.000-07:00

Every time I find myself doing some tedious, menial task I start to feel the cynicism creep up my spine and into my internal dialogue.
Yeah! I went to school for an extra five years so I could be an expert filer! The thousands of dollars of student loan debt I've accrued is totally worth it now that I'm qualified to sort manila folders into reusable and to-be-recycled piles!
I know I should just be grateful to have a job at all at this point in the economic saga, especially one with benefits and paid vacation. But I can't help but think that my life has a higher purpose than the copier can provide, even though it is a very nice copier.
I'm searching for my dharma in the wide world of clerical duties, and for some reason, I can't find it. So at the end of every day I'm left with resounding questions: Where am I going with my career? Why can't I just be grateful for the opportunities I've been given? and whose science-project cheese is that in the break room fridge?

Love ~H

Such a Monday

2008-07-14T15:46:00.000-07:00

Today is such a Monday. It's drug on for hours, and though I'm waiting anxiously, 5 o'clock has not come around yet.

I've become increasingly bored with my occupational duties - maybe I just work too fast; or at least thats what my co-workers tell me right after I fruitlessly ask for more work. And since when is that a bad thing, anyway?

The often empty hours between 9 and 5:30 leave me ample time to think about all the things I'm not currently doing with my life. I'm not traveling; I'm not writing the novel I promised myself I'd have started by now; I'm not even getting outside as much as I'd like.

To sum it up, here is the email I sent to my significant other at 11:30 this morning:

"Kill me. Smite me, strike me down… if I didn’t have margaritas after work to look forward to I’d steal your golf clubs and go look for a lightning storm."

Love ~H