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.
Showing posts with label Chestnut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chestnut. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Monday, March 29, 2010
Perpetual Spring
For my friend Leslie’s 32nd birthday a few weeks ago she had a few of us join her in a desperate housewives takeover of a local tattoo parlor. She was getting her nose pierced, others were actually getting tattoos.
I don’t have any tattoos; I went to get one back in 2001 and thankfully the shop was closed or I may have gotten something I later regretted. However this recent trip planted the idea in my head of getting some ink. My reasoning goes back to my previous post: “Sweetness Follows”: I know that this season in my life is so beautiful and delicious but also extremely fleeting and wholly temporary. It will end, and end sooner than I’d hope. I see these little seasons passing and some I handle better than others.
Some end because of distance. Some end because the changes that happen are too great to overcome. Some end because expectations diverge. Some end because hearts can’t agree. Some end because of death.
Whatever the reason, the feeling is the same. There is a sense of loss right now but I am reminded of two plants in this instance: the American chestnut and the resurrection fern.
When the chestnut succumbs to the blight, the stem/trunk is killed off, but the roots remain. Those roots will continue to send up new stalks of growth with the constant hope that a few will survive. Often you’ll observe a large, dead stump, sometimes 75 years gone, with dozens of tiny chestnut shoots surrounding it. The roots don’t know when to give up and as long as they stay firmly planted, those new growths will continue.
The resurrection fern shrivels up and appears dead when resources wane and droughts appear, but at the first sign of rain it unfurls in a fit of lush green optimism. It is as if it lives in this perpetual spring of new beginnings. It is proof that life, promises and blessings are new every morning if we choose to let them be.
I don’t have any tattoos; I went to get one back in 2001 and thankfully the shop was closed or I may have gotten something I later regretted. However this recent trip planted the idea in my head of getting some ink. My reasoning goes back to my previous post: “Sweetness Follows”: I know that this season in my life is so beautiful and delicious but also extremely fleeting and wholly temporary. It will end, and end sooner than I’d hope. I see these little seasons passing and some I handle better than others.
Some end because of distance. Some end because the changes that happen are too great to overcome. Some end because expectations diverge. Some end because hearts can’t agree. Some end because of death.
Whatever the reason, the feeling is the same. There is a sense of loss right now but I am reminded of two plants in this instance: the American chestnut and the resurrection fern.
When the chestnut succumbs to the blight, the stem/trunk is killed off, but the roots remain. Those roots will continue to send up new stalks of growth with the constant hope that a few will survive. Often you’ll observe a large, dead stump, sometimes 75 years gone, with dozens of tiny chestnut shoots surrounding it. The roots don’t know when to give up and as long as they stay firmly planted, those new growths will continue.
The resurrection fern shrivels up and appears dead when resources wane and droughts appear, but at the first sign of rain it unfurls in a fit of lush green optimism. It is as if it lives in this perpetual spring of new beginnings. It is proof that life, promises and blessings are new every morning if we choose to let them be.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Chestnut-ing
I'm on a business trip but spent the afternoon riding on a farm cart covered in hay bales, looking at squiggly chestnut shoots. These are the future of the American chestnut. Some have died, some are weakened by cankers, some shoot up toward the sky.
In the fall, the chestnut trees drop thousands of spiny pods, each containing three seeds. They feel like an urchin and at the farm they litter the ground.
Some are from the trees that are now the parents to the blight-resistant strain currently in testing.
In that little spiny urchin could be history changed. I picked up a chestnut seed and put it in my pocket. It'll remind me what hope can look like, no matter the odds.
In the fall, the chestnut trees drop thousands of spiny pods, each containing three seeds. They feel like an urchin and at the farm they litter the ground.
Some are from the trees that are now the parents to the blight-resistant strain currently in testing.
In that little spiny urchin could be history changed. I picked up a chestnut seed and put it in my pocket. It'll remind me what hope can look like, no matter the odds.
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