goddammitt I didn't and I did and I didn't so THERE.

Remember when I mentioned that I may have picked a career?
I didn't. I haven't.
There is so much to say about this and so little.


Let's start with what I'm afraid of:
failure!
yep, failure...in it's myriad forms...
wasting money!
totally, that sucks for me.
lack of recognition!
I want to be easily understood....as....superior.
boredom!
tedium-ho-hum.
stress!
which to me is akin to shooting up with tumors, okay?
communicable disease!
not my fave.
not doing the right thing!
yes, yes, that ambiguous gem of a cultural meme. (thanks Spike, really.)

What this basically amounts to is this:

I want to be true to myself.
I want a job that allows me to express myself,
within a supportive environment.
I want to be challenged, and engaged.
I don't want to lose touch with all the other
things in my life that are important.
And I am a person so I also have weird-o mundane
ego pursuits like wanting security, accolades, and validation
from everyone. Even though I can accept that these are illusions,
when I feel afraid my craving is for them.

I have this habit of dangling carrots to motivate myself.

And it's troublesome.

For short-term goals it can arguably be handy.
For instance, getting through the first part of a workout
by dangling the idea that once one gets started it'll be almost over.
But I would venture to say that even this benign thinking might pose
the threat of ill-gotten gains by wondering, what do we miss about the doing if we only concentrate on the end?

For long-term goals it's just awful.
It's all those cliches.
It IS putting the cart before the horse.
It IS making it about the destination not the journey.
It IS making mountains out of molehills.

Here's something I'm going to try and ponder:

CARROTS ARE FOR EATING NOT FOR DANGLING

I have to admit that I just might go back to school and I just might not.
And that either might be just fine.

And that I just might get into a different kind of work or I might not.
And that school might play a role or it might not.

Above all, I want to remain open and loving.
And it's sooooo haaaaard to love this process.
But it's getting easier.
And it's soooooo haaaaard to love the judging and impatient
voices.
But that's getting easier too.

Pt. 1 of I think 3 or 4
Stay tuned for Pt. 2!

a love letter to the bug that died in my hair

Dearest bug,

When you landed in my hair I knew instantly.
I tried to free you from the dense mesh by gently
shaking my head but failed.
Noticing the small protrusion against my scalp, I decided to let the
wind help remove you and I kept on biking.

We were on the east bank, and I turned all of my focus to
the task of getting to the st. paul campus.
We weaved and maneuvered our way onto the greenway that
connects the two cities.
The wind was steady and we continued into it for at
least a mile. I was pretty sure you were gone.

Triumphantly arriving at my destination, I proceeded into work.
And then I felt it.
The sweet buzz that was the tremor of your wings.
Over and over until I had to admit that you were still
there and that you were stuck.

I tried to get someone to help me free you so I wouldn't accidentally
kill you. We went outside. They were put off by touching my hair....
The trembling stopped so I guessed that you'd flown off.
Just to be sure, I entered the bathroom to see if I could find your exact location with the help of the mirror. No luck.
I started work and tried to forget you.
And then, another buzz!
But then, no more came.

An hour later your whisper of a body fell into my hand.
I brought you outside to the grass and dirt.

And that's how I experienced it, I wonder what it was like for you?

Sincerely,
with love,
Jenny