Diving Board

I lost my job this morning.
I wasn't expecting it consciously, though I think somewhere in my mind I suspected a change was coming.

I was a novice grant writer, hired to find funds based only on my gumption, my charisma and my writing skills. I successfully got grants but they need someone with more experience and I simply can't provide that. If it were a bigger office and I could be mentored, this wouldn't be a conversation, but unfortunately, they are small. I don't blame them for the termination; I'd do the same thing. I'll miss them all terribly. I love—and I mean LOVE—my coworkers. I love my bosses, love the board, love the members. My office was a truly fun place to work; they are friends and they matter to me. I haven't a single bad thing to say about them, and I'm assured that feeling is mutual. I leave with great recommendations and the knowledge that I'd be an enthusiastic rehire if they could find a place for me. All of that is good.

Here's a secret: when people ask me what my dream job is, the answer has always been a writer, but I've felt like it was insensible to say so. I love to write; I love words. I love forming thoughts and arguments onto paper. Writing breathes life into me and I want to believe it does the same for my readers. I don't know if it is my gift, but given the choice I'd like it to be.
And so, I finally admit it: what I want to be when I grow up isn't a grants manager for a conservation nonprofit (though that was great), it's to be a writer. A real one. A published one. But what to write? I haven't a clue. I want to speak truth. In a quiet way, I am relieved to be let go.

Maybe this is it, the kick off the diving board toward doing what I so dearly love to do. I'm terrified. Right now the lake looks cold, I'm unsure of my swimming skills and that water's surface is coming fast.

As Cool As I Am

I have been going non-stop for about a week and a half and it's taken its toll. I'm not complaining; I love my social events and don't like to miss them but I am currently very tired. Two weeks ago I had back spasms so badly I felt like I could flip a quarter on it without trying. I had muscle spasms in my arm that felt like someone was poking me. They actually woke me up and I turned to make sure there wasn't someone standing there. Very odd sensation. Feeling so keenly a human touch that didn't actually exist.

I'm thinking about the fight or flight instinct currently, as I do believe I've grown so tired of the fight that I've turned to fleeing and doing so in whatever manner I can. I think that is a part of the appeal of perpetual social engagements. Stay distracted, stay moving, keep spinning. There is a line in an old Dar Williams song where she talks about seeing a girl out in a club:

“The whole bar is loud and proud and everybody's trying yeah
You play the artist, saying is it how she moves or how she looks
I say it's loneliness suspended to our own like grappling hooks
And as long as she's got noise she's fine
But I could teach her how I learned to dance
When the music's ended.”

I think that's what it is. I need to learn to dance when the music has ended, to be OK in the stillness, not get crushed underneath the fight when I finally sit out a flight.

(post is called "As Cool As I Am" not because I think I'm cool, but because that's the name of the song I quote. And also maybe cuz I think I'm pretty cool. Maybe not.)