Through A Glass, Clearly

One of my first experiences of body appreciation was by reading Peanuts. That’s right, my philosophical beginning came through a comic strip.  Not to diminish Mr. Schultz’s worldly observations, but I was a 5 or 6-year-old reading Snoopy’s exploits, or maybe it was Charlie Brown’s? – giving his legs and feet a pep talk, something like: ‘feet don’t fail me now’, as though they had brains of their own.  It was revelatory for me to think about my legs and feet as maybe failing me, or that they deserved recognition for their constant work on my behalf.

Flash forward more decades than I wish, reluctantly wearing reading (in this case, writing…) glasses, experiencing appreciation for what was.  I was going to eradicate aging though, merely by believing I could.  Hey, the cultists told me we only age because we think we’re going to – that it’s all attitude and belief.  That I’ve aged merely indicates my lack of faith…

One of my sisters needed glasses her whole life, so I guess she was spiritually lacking from the get-go.  Idiocy aside, aging means diminished ability – no matter how well we eat, or how many vitamins and minerals we take to slow the process.  The only way to stop aging is to die.  That’s it.  Plastic surgery doesn’t stop bodily degeneration, unless we start implanting baby organs, and stem cells to replenish our damaged cells.  And there’s a bodily cost for those ‘interventions’: getting surgically sliced and diced causes damage too.

Fighting the inevitable – outside of being my Native American, or, First People, name – is exhausting.  Acceptance feels like giving up.  I know it’s not, but my emotional self says: ‘Screw you! – you’ll never take me alive’.  And my body replies: ‘Well, that’s the intention…’.

So I extend my gratitude backwards.  My body served me well, and still does.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

 

 

Marching Forth

People marching forthIt’s March Fourth today, and in honor of that exhortation, what do I need to do that? I’ve heard the ‘get a job, any job’ mantra, and while necessary to live, those of us with chronic pain and major depression, anxiety, and panic disorder, sometimes don’t fare well in the ‘any job is a good job’ category.

I’m an unpaid writer trying to find a living-wage writing.  I’m a singer who gets occasional gigs, usually amounting to gas money, but it does strengthen my will to live, so I’ll keep doing that.  Acting is much the same when you’re not getting anything but extra work, which basically makes me a paid prop.  ‘Stand here and smile.’  or ‘Stand here and look horrified.’ or ‘Stand there’ – and then, ‘sit over there’.   Still, it’s work I want to do – but with a speaking role – but not the kind of work that keeps a roof over my head.

big prize

So, there are other jobs to do outside of my dreams, like office work, and light house-keeping, but of all the resumes I’ve submitted in the last few months, I’ve gotten zero responses.

Not one interview.

That has added to my despair as much as anything else.  There are fewer jobs with more people applying for them, I get that, and perhaps I’m under-qualified or over-qualified, but I think the real issue is creative void.

I need to stoke my imagination, maybe get entrepreneurial, but with something that has a hope of a living-wage attached to it.

march to your own beat

Having supportive friends and allies helps, but I worry about wearing thin on them.  I don’t wish to hold the friend-in-trouble-heavyweight-title anymore.

my life map so far

Marching forth is apt, but instructions on doing that, that work for me, would be stellar.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current

 

 

Younger-er

There’s a new series on TV called, Younger, starring Sutton Foster, that is so fun.  The concept is of a newly divorced mother trying to re-enter the work force at 40, and being turned down due to her age by interviewers in their 20’s.  While ridiculous on its face, there are truths, or at least issues, I can relate to.

http://www.tvland.com/shows/younger
http://www.tvland.com/shows/younger

Not a fan of aging, or of people complaining about being old, or how old they are, and blah, blah, blah, I so relate to this character.

The ideas of youthful freedom are as tantamount as the inexperience and relative irresponsibility of being young.  So while I complain about those who complain about being old, I see the bounty of perspective.  I see how each and every day led to me to where I am, and I wouldn’t care to repeat much of that time.

I learned about betrayal, heartache, false friends, misguided trust, and self-reliance.  Being my own best friend was hard-gained, and learning that being alone was alright took several years.

It was miserable when I saw younger people see me as older.  It was truly fucking awful, but what could I do?  I couldn’t afford surgery to try to stay perpetually 20, and even if I could, why would I want to?  I was there!  So, my twenties sucked – a lot of it.  I also had a lot of fun.  My thirties came quicker than I expected, but there ya go – it happened, and so did my forties…

Acceptance is a bitch sometimes.  If I could disguise myself and be seen as young, and get a do-over, what a different time it would be.  It’s universal: the desire to be young and yet have a wise perspective.  Twenty-somethings might never feel that way, but wait until they hit forty.  The difference is like looking out, or down, from a high cliff rather than ground level.  Whether you know what to do with that vantage point is dependent on many factors, but the lucky few who understand their worth and their abilities get to make a pretty good life for themselves and their loved ones.

It’s not a magic formula, I know.  There are those who are confident and capable and life is a douche-bag to them anyway, but usually, perseverance can lead them through the rough patches.

And there will be rough patches.  I don’t care how gilded a life is, it isn’t exempt from some form of hell.  Perhaps I’d gladly exchange my hell for theirs, but hell it is.

So, unless I can radically change my life, it would be wiser for me to accept where I am.

I guess I can accept it, but I don’t approve of it.

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© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current