Miscellaneous

Are there pieces of each of us that are miscellaneous? I'm not talking about dead skin flakes that have no purpose any longer. Pieces of information that when you are explaining yourself you use the et cetera clause? Like on Seinfeld where instead of finishing you just say 'Yada, yada, yada.'

Initially when I read the prompt for this week's Sunday Scribblings I thought it fit perfectly with a topic I am anxious to talk about - emotional baggage. Miscellaneous emotional baggage. It is still a topic that I am anxious to talk about about, but not at 1:00am in the morning after several days of minimal sleep. Emotional baggage, even just the discussion of it, feels so much larger and heavier when sleep and energy levels are low.

My next notion was to provide you with a list of miscellaneous facts about me. Things like:

• I cannot mix milk from two different cartons. If there is a little of milk left in one carton and I need more, I'll use only milk from a new carton and wait to use the other later.
• My feet and hands are almost always freezing. This is made worse by the fact that I like to wear flip-flops, regardless of the season.
• I once plucked two key pieces of hair from my right eyebrow by mistake. This mistake then cause the brow to look like two, giving me a total of three eyebrows. It was a painful month.
• With the exception of the first day on jobs, taxes and kindergarten I have never gone by my real first name.

Each of these is a miscellaneous fact. To know one doesn't give you a whole lot of insight as to who I am. You might see a girl walking through the snow in winter with flip-flops on and wonder if it's me.

Yet at the same time if you start adding all the miscellaneous facts up you get the sum total of me. So how do you differentiate, in your person, the singular you from the miscellaneous? Or can you?

Capture my youth in a bottle...

If only we could capture our youth in a bottle to be sent to us at another time in our life, when we need it the most.

The Sunday Scribblings quandary of how our youth was spent is a strikingly apropos prompt for this week. In fact, as I type I sit in my room while my entire family sits in other rooms of the house, talking, reminiscing, planning for holidays, and other generalized conversation. Me being in my room is pretty atypical of my personality and my behavior...but much needed in this moment.

How did I misspend my life? Initially my answer felt easy: I grew up too fast. I was having adult conversations at eight, speaking with ease and comfort in large meetings at nine, celebrating events and birthdays with friends decades older than I. While I had friends my age I also considered (and still do) my parents' friends my own. I worked jobs as soon as I could - sometimes having many at a time.

Was this really misspent? That's a hard word for me to use. Misspent makes me think of the huge order I placed with CafePress a few months ago or the amount of money Eric and I spent on fast food in August of 2006.

The difficulty in labeling something as misspent invokes some notion that value was not realized. My youth, and my life learning process, are full of mistakes, missteps, errors in judgment, wrong questions, answers sought from bad sources...but isn't that all part of it?

How do we say that we misspent a time in our life? Is the answer that misspent time is time we would go back and change or do differently? If that is the case, then my reality is that none of my youth was misspent.

Yes, I grew up fast. I find myself at 29 trying to 'learn' how to relax, to take things slow, to undo adult-sized habits. I have moments were I wish I could run as fast and as far as I can from 'adult' responsibility. Sure there are things I wish I would have learned earlier or taken advantage of. Maybe I wouldn't have taken the promotion, or maybe I would have traveled to Europe or waited to get married, or focused on friends my age group, or maybe I wouldn't have changed anything. Responsibility seems to stick to me like cat hair.

Yet the world experiences I have had are built like a domino train upon each other. Taking one out would completely change the way my other dominoes fell. There are parts of my life, even right this minute, that I would love to be different. In no way, however, would I risk changing everything by 're-spending' a minute of my youth...

I carry...

This blog suggestion came from the wonderful people over at Sunday Scribblings. I am not sure they realized what a cathartic exercise this would be for so many of their readers. Or at least for me, I can only speak for myself. Damn. I love speaking for everyone.

Anyway. As I have thought this week about the theme, 'I Carry', my mind has wandered with so many possibilities. All pieces of my life that are blazing hot topics for me right now: the weight I carry, the traits, physical and emotions, that I carry from my Grandfather, my children who are more often in my arms than not, the responsibility of being the oldest child, and the list goes on and on.

At some point during the week, I found myself at the store. Which store it was isn't important, but it is one with a standard big-box cosmetics section. Standing in the cosmetics aisle time came to a stand still, and a memory started to spin in my head. It suddenly became clear what it is I carry. Guilt. Specific guilt for various pin points in my life. The smell of Bonnie Bell cherry lip gloss and eye make-up remover induced stabbing pricks of memory, and said guilt.

I carry the guilt for carrying cosmetics out of a store without paying for them.

There, I said it.

No, I did not steal Lipsmackers or Maybelline this week! It was actually nine years ago. That time frame is crucial because it means I can blog about it with no criminal consequences attached to it! That state in which this horrid event occurred has a seven year statute. That says something about me too, that I would look that up before blogging about it. Hum...that's another thought for another day...

I had recently moved from the warm comfort of my parents' home and pocketbook, to make my way as a student at a large, state-funded University. My parents combined income exceeded financial aid guidelines and my parents' combined parenting theory demanded that I provide for myself, minus the money they paid directly to the school for tuition.

There is a reason that I sharing all of this with you. It is not in any attempt for pity. My parents provided me both the opportunity for me to go to school, an opportunity that unfortunately not everyone has. More importantly, and as per their desire, having to work as well as attend school helped me set priorities (boys were still #1), forced me to create my own signature work style and ethic, and value the money that I earned.

So it is interesting that I would have felt spurred on to carry, in my purse, anything out of a store without paying. Not because I am angelic and that behavior is beneath me, but because I could afford to buy the things I needed, and a few things I desired.

I could not tell you what I took. It was probably foundation and mascara, which tend to be the more pricey things where make-up is concerned.

I can tell you that I took the said items out of their packaging, hid the evidence throughout the store, put the things into my purse, and then proceeded to the cash register where I purchased several things.

Yes. I bought a variety of other necessities. I stood at the cash register, smiled and made small talk, paid for my legal purchases, and walked out of the store. Have cash, but will carry anyway.

This is not the only contradiction in my behavior. The very notion that I would steal make-up is quite ironic...I rarely wear make-up. At that time in my life I was in good physical shape, had always had clear skin, and could get by with jeans, a tee, and lip gloss. Who knows if I even wore the make-up!

Those details are unimportant in the end though. What is important is that the memory of having stole items from a store has been something I have carried since then. Each time I enter the store and legitimately walk out with cosmetics I am drawn back to that one instance in my life.

One instance that weighs in my mind and on my soul. Even now, as I struggle to define myself religiously, I still believe firmly that there are wrong and right behaviors. We do things at times that are directly contrary to who we know we are. Carrying make-up out of a store, with no payment, and with no, at the time, guilt, is not who I am.

From that instance on there have been so many things that have carved and molded me into the person I am. That's not to say that I haven't done other things I am not embarrassed, ashamed, or feel guilty of. Life experience dictates that we have some of those, as well as some that if we could we'd list on our resumes or on a t-shirt with pride.

So, though I have carried this for years. It is time to drop it.

----------------
Now playing: Petra Haden - Don't Stop Believin'
via FoxyTunes

SS: First job & Worst Job

#80 - First Job, Worst Job, Dream Job

Let's hear em! What was your first job, and what was your worst job, and any others you care to tell about. How about your dream job? Give us your "realistic" dream job, that which you are pursuing and hope to attain, and your total fantasy dream job, which may not even exist, but would be perfect for you.

This is from the fantastic team over at Sunday Scribblings. Figured it was a fun post to blog about and give me a chance to reminisce.

It is hard to remember what my very first job was. I started working before I can even remember - doing odd jobs for extra spending money. I worked in my Mom's school organizing cabinets, grading papers, and updating bulletin boards. I loved doing that as I earned money and got some extra time with my Mom.

Those are the same reasons that I loved my first 'official' paying job. This was working with my Dad doing reception work. I got to have time traveling with my Dad (even though it was early in the morning) and then during lunch. My Dad is an incredibly hard worker and was almost always awake and gone before we were awake, and then home late. Of course I loved being a receptionist. Within weeks I had learned vendors voices and they were always thrilled when I knew who they were before they said their names. This is the first experience I had in the work world where I started to understand how interpersonal relationships work, how to make a customer happy, and how to feel pride in what I do. A lot of this came from the job, but a lot of it also came from the expectations my Dad had of me in letting me work at the same company.

From that point I've had a myriad of other jobs, including (in no particular order):

~ customer service for a dry cleaner
~ a teacher of geriatric aerobics
~ days-long and weeks-long stints at Macy's and Mervyns (retail clothing is NOT my thing).
~ a hostess, then cashier, then server for Pinnacle Peak (yes, I LOVED cutting off ties!).
My best friend and my boyfriend also worked there at various times.
~ Special Sales and Ordering for the U of U Health Sciences Bookstore
~ a hostess for a Denny-esque restaurant
~ a student advisor, manager, teacher-trainer, Marketing & Academic Manager,
and Area Director at Kaplan
~ SAHM to a precocious three year-old and an obstinate two year-old
~ a Client Account Manager for an employment agency
~ a Client Education Coordinator for People Helping People

Really, it is quite hard to tell you what the worst job is. There are bits and pieces of mediocrity and embarassment at each job. The jobs I am drawn to and that I love the most are those that involve counseling people (be it careers, education, life), team construction and management, and overall business management. For those reasons, plus the chance to travel, I especially loved my job as Area Director for Kaplan. However that job came with high stress, unbelievable amounts of time at work, and a dramatic feeling of loss when I quit to become at SAHM.

Working for PHP was the last job that I did before staying home full-time. I had stopped working for Kaplan and needed a little bit of a break. The actual job at PHP was fulfilling but not challenging. The hardest part for me there was that I really couldn't commit myself - and stuggeled with feeling like I shortchanged both the job and my boys. That was harder than I can even express or want to remember.

In the future I know I'll be back at work. Every once and a while I get itchy to get out of the house and back in the workplace. Being a SAHM has challenged me more than I expected and more than I have encountered any where else. With every job there is a steep learning curve, but with being a SAHM your job duties, and therefore your learning curve, change JUST as you think you are getting the hang of it.

My personal job right now is to find contentment being 'just a mom', to provide them with a fun and educational home environment, and to take advantage of the time I have to do this. Not everyone has (or wants) this luxury.

When I do go back to work I'm not sure what I'll do. I loved the corporate world - but only until I got introduced to the non-profit. It will be hard to see what I feel compelled to do. It will be lots of fun, however, to interview and prove to employers that just because I off-ramped. Being a SAHM has given me incredible experience and education that I'm not sure I could learn anywhere else.

And now, I hear my bosses calling me!