I took out a loan because happiness is a warm gun.
So much I wish I could...so much I wish I would...and I will.
I hold on because I'm a bombshell
I'm a piece of work and it's nobody's fault but mine
A sinister kid who's going to make sure you've seen the butcher
He stands by his woman, with her platinum blonde life
I'll get wasted and send all my loving to you
Then there's your best friend's arm and their St. Louis blues
Meet me down at the Animal Bar
It's just a minor thing and we're all minor kings
I've severed that leash because there'll be no next time
We called them freaks, when I was an orphan
Your last child was rattled by the rush
There's no tomorrow in the frolic room
We'll be livin' and rockin' while standing in the sun
Caffeine and gasoline calms the spite
I saw Shadrach, Meshach & Abendego standing on the corner
All wearing kashmir
I'm going to marry the night, you're my starlight
You be somebody, I'll be the May Queen
Crackity Jones traveled 15 fathoms and is still counting
Please come back to Sorrento
Boogie on, my reggae woman,
I've got some homebrew right here
Your simple words tend to sound gutless
But I'll pay tribute anyway
Sure tonight we are young but
it's the end of the beginning
Welcome to the universe, let's live until we die
Playing with the family in the concrete schoolyard
Strip, rock and roll for me baby
But watch out because Janie's got her gun
I've got no control over this use of time
Let's go crazy because I'm down for you
Gold dust woman slides down the pipeline
You better all hail me and my chelsea smile
Everyone's a sucker for a sequel
because there's always room at the top
Soap star Joe stirs it up
While me and my shadow wallow in my head
My bionic eyes will leave you black and blue
Just Love Yourself, Dammit - If I Can Do It, So Can You
So of course I take part in social media like everyone else on the planet. My personal favorite is Twitter, but of course I have Facebook and Tumblr accounts as well.
Since my breakup I've backed off from cruising my various timelines, mostly Facebook, for a couple of reasons. One is I don't feel like seeing random people's happiness splayed all over the internet - unless it's a dear, dear friend or family member.
The other reason I've backed off is that I have become painfully aware all of these memes and quotes and blog posts, etc, that either pertain to my situation or make me think of him - they cross my line of sight, I read them, and it hurts. It really, really hurts. It takes all the willpower I've got to not forward them along to him.
One thing that is getting under my skin lately is all of the "I-may-be-difficult-but-I'm-worth-it" type quotes that are plastered everywhere. Why? Because it shouldn't have to be like that, and most of the time, it isn't. I used to think that of myself, but then I learned it simply isn't true. I am not a difficult person. My friends and everyone else that I love, the ex included, are not difficult people. But it doesn't make them worth my time any less. Yes, I love them all in spite of their idiosyncrasies and whatnot, but those things do not make them "difficult" or "weird" or "crazy." It disheartens me to think that we've become the "I-deserve-to-be-loved-even-though" generation. It should not be that way. We all deserved to be loved, plain and simple.
Maybe the mindset should be changed to "I-deserve-to-be-loved-BECAUSE-I-am-difficult." Or better yet, "I-am-NOT-difficult-and-am-STILL-worth-it."
Another thought that saddens me is that the people who truly feel this way, who feel that they are not easy to get along with or have so many internal issues that it makes them hard to accept being loved, have obviously had someone in their past, or even present, that caused them to feel this way. Why do we do this to each other?
What if we were to all walk around with healthy amounts of self esteem? What if we all believed we are worth someone's time and someone's love? Wouldn't things be a lot different? I know that I wouldn't want to be with a person who felt so awful about themselves. The best I could give them would be the love and support of a good friend.
Since my breakup I've backed off from cruising my various timelines, mostly Facebook, for a couple of reasons. One is I don't feel like seeing random people's happiness splayed all over the internet - unless it's a dear, dear friend or family member.
The other reason I've backed off is that I have become painfully aware all of these memes and quotes and blog posts, etc, that either pertain to my situation or make me think of him - they cross my line of sight, I read them, and it hurts. It really, really hurts. It takes all the willpower I've got to not forward them along to him.
One thing that is getting under my skin lately is all of the "I-may-be-difficult-but-I'm-worth-it" type quotes that are plastered everywhere. Why? Because it shouldn't have to be like that, and most of the time, it isn't. I used to think that of myself, but then I learned it simply isn't true. I am not a difficult person. My friends and everyone else that I love, the ex included, are not difficult people. But it doesn't make them worth my time any less. Yes, I love them all in spite of their idiosyncrasies and whatnot, but those things do not make them "difficult" or "weird" or "crazy." It disheartens me to think that we've become the "I-deserve-to-be-loved-even-though" generation. It should not be that way. We all deserved to be loved, plain and simple.
Maybe the mindset should be changed to "I-deserve-to-be-loved-BECAUSE-I-am-difficult." Or better yet, "I-am-NOT-difficult-and-am-STILL-worth-it."
Another thought that saddens me is that the people who truly feel this way, who feel that they are not easy to get along with or have so many internal issues that it makes them hard to accept being loved, have obviously had someone in their past, or even present, that caused them to feel this way. Why do we do this to each other?
 |
| It's heartbreaking to know people think this way. |
I have all the reason in the world to think I don't deserve to be loved. I have all the reason in the world right now to believe that I am difficult, I am strange, I am neurotic and downright unlovable. But you know what? I don't believe those things. Because I believe something that trumps all of those things -
I am an amazing person.
I am beautiful, inside and out.
I am lovable.
I am downright fantastic and fuck you if you can't see that.
Christmas Blues
I will probably bitch and complain about the holidays a lot this year. It doesn't mean I'm a total Scrooge, nor have I always been this way. There's a big reason why I'm just not feeling it.
I had planned on spending the holidays going to parties, driving around looking at Christmas lights, snuggling up in front of a fire watching Christmas movies, attending church services, going to Longwood Gardens, and exchanging gifts (some of which are sitting in the back bedroom until I figure out what to do with them) with the man I love. But all of those plans have gone down the shitter since he came to the realization that he can't love me back at this point and time in his life. So being newly single during the time of year everyone is posting pictures of themselves with their significant other doing wonderful Christmas-y things really fucking sucks.
I'm lonely and down in the dumps, along with probably more than half of the population I'm sure, but I'm not friends with or related to half of the population. I'm friends with and related to people who are not alone, people who have that someone to cuddle up to while watching Christmas Vacation.
I know, I know - wah wah wah. Whatever. I had it all and it slipped right through my fingers. The first Christmas party I attended this year was fun, I met some really nice people and didn't pay for one drink. The second party I attended, immediately following the first, was fun as well. I participated by making my delicious beer cheese soup and providing a homemade bottle of Limoncello that was given to me at the first party. (You could say it was a hit, because it was gone in less than an hour.) I remember announcing my arrival - "Ladies and gentleman, Snooki is here and she is trashed!"
By the time 2 am approached, I was sober and while driving home, regardless of the fun I had, the tears came on hard.
I don't want it to be this way. I didn't want to decorate the trees with a shitty attitude, but it has consumed me. I don't want to finish my Christmas shopping because I had to cross him off of my list. I don't want to bake because I just don't care, and it shows - about half of my cookies ended up burnt and now I'm even less enthusiastic about tackling the pizzelles.
I know it could be worse. I know there are people losing their loved ones this time of year; they can join my club. I don't have my father anymore, or my MomMom & PopPop. But don't think for one minute that I am not thankful for those I do have in my life, the ones helping me through the mess of my life this year. They are always there for me.
But still, I just want to crawl into bed and wait until it's all over. It hurts to see everyone so excited and happy and having a grand ole time while I'm on the sidelines, dead inside. At least I can put on a facade that still works on the untrained eye.
I had planned on spending the holidays going to parties, driving around looking at Christmas lights, snuggling up in front of a fire watching Christmas movies, attending church services, going to Longwood Gardens, and exchanging gifts (some of which are sitting in the back bedroom until I figure out what to do with them) with the man I love. But all of those plans have gone down the shitter since he came to the realization that he can't love me back at this point and time in his life. So being newly single during the time of year everyone is posting pictures of themselves with their significant other doing wonderful Christmas-y things really fucking sucks.
I'm lonely and down in the dumps, along with probably more than half of the population I'm sure, but I'm not friends with or related to half of the population. I'm friends with and related to people who are not alone, people who have that someone to cuddle up to while watching Christmas Vacation.
I know, I know - wah wah wah. Whatever. I had it all and it slipped right through my fingers. The first Christmas party I attended this year was fun, I met some really nice people and didn't pay for one drink. The second party I attended, immediately following the first, was fun as well. I participated by making my delicious beer cheese soup and providing a homemade bottle of Limoncello that was given to me at the first party. (You could say it was a hit, because it was gone in less than an hour.) I remember announcing my arrival - "Ladies and gentleman, Snooki is here and she is trashed!"
By the time 2 am approached, I was sober and while driving home, regardless of the fun I had, the tears came on hard.
I don't want it to be this way. I didn't want to decorate the trees with a shitty attitude, but it has consumed me. I don't want to finish my Christmas shopping because I had to cross him off of my list. I don't want to bake because I just don't care, and it shows - about half of my cookies ended up burnt and now I'm even less enthusiastic about tackling the pizzelles.
I know it could be worse. I know there are people losing their loved ones this time of year; they can join my club. I don't have my father anymore, or my MomMom & PopPop. But don't think for one minute that I am not thankful for those I do have in my life, the ones helping me through the mess of my life this year. They are always there for me.
But still, I just want to crawl into bed and wait until it's all over. It hurts to see everyone so excited and happy and having a grand ole time while I'm on the sidelines, dead inside. At least I can put on a facade that still works on the untrained eye.
Pepperoni Purgatory
We're not even halfway through December and I'm already breaking out the Tylenol. Although this year I might need something a little stronger. (Horse tranquilizer maybe?)
My brother and I baked a dozen loaves of pepperoni bread last night, keeping the tradition our father started with us going. I had insisted we do it this past Sunday but, God forbid, the Eagles were playing at 1:00. Instead my brother and my 4-year-old nephew came over last night, a school/work night. Big mistake, because guess who got stuck with having to finish baking, cooling and slicing half of the truckload we made? This girl. The one who had to get up at 4:30 this morning. And guess who was rushing around just trying to get it done instead of enjoying our time spent together and baking this stuff with the love and care that we used to when our Pop was alive, because Nico was wired as hell and doing his 4-year-old thing while our mother is down for the count with an upper respiratory infection? Yup, my brother.
Four burnt loaves of pepperoni bread and one small grease fire later, the chaos finally ceased and the seasonal treat our friends and family love so much was finished baking.
To keep in mind for next year,
- Buy the dough at least a day in advance. An hour to thaw? Bullshit.
- We need 4 pounds of sliced pepperoni - 3 doesn't cut it - and not from just any deli counter. I believe that to be the cause of the grease fire.
- We also need to have about six pounds of mozzarella cheese on hand. I did not appreciate having to make another grocery store run in the middle of the baking proceedings.
- It's smarter to start during Nico's nap time because then he's less apt to be a maniac while we're fighting grease fires and ending up covered in shredded mozzarella and flour.
- Ma's baking pans are shit. Guess what she's getting for Christmas this year?
Now to brave the snow and go get chocolate chips so I can bake even more. Because, you know, I forgot all about them the two separate times I was in the grocery store yesterday.
To keep in mind for next year,
- Buy the dough at least a day in advance. An hour to thaw? Bullshit.
- We need 4 pounds of sliced pepperoni - 3 doesn't cut it - and not from just any deli counter. I believe that to be the cause of the grease fire.
- We also need to have about six pounds of mozzarella cheese on hand. I did not appreciate having to make another grocery store run in the middle of the baking proceedings.
- It's smarter to start during Nico's nap time because then he's less apt to be a maniac while we're fighting grease fires and ending up covered in shredded mozzarella and flour.
- Ma's baking pans are shit. Guess what she's getting for Christmas this year?
Now to brave the snow and go get chocolate chips so I can bake even more. Because, you know, I forgot all about them the two separate times I was in the grocery store yesterday.
When Paradise Becomes Dark
Yesterday morning I did two things I shouldn't have. I sat and listened to Lana Del Rey and then went through a big bag of my things that had come from my now former boyfriend's apartment. I had been avoiding both of those things specifically because Lana Del Rey's music was our thing - no one would understand and we don't care - and the bag contained items meant for no one but him, aside from a random assortment of clothes and toiletries I kept there.
I sobbed my eyes out on my bedroom floor for the millionth time as Lana's voice floated from the speakers, setting my guts on fire because my boyfriend, the man I loved, has ripped out my heart, torn it apart, and dropped it at my feet. It's still lying there and it's starting to rot. I'm tired of looking at it but I don't have the energy to pick it up and put it back where it belongs. No one wants it anyway, not even me.
I need answers.
Like how I could start to believe that our relationship was it, how it was the last one I ever wanted to be in when he wasn't feeling the same way.
Like how someone can shut their emotions down and wall up their heart, and even after two years of building trust and a bond with me that no one on the outside could have broken, still not let me in. How he told me I was perfect, I was the most amazing girlfriend, I was beautiful and just enough crazy for him, that I've done nothing wrong at all, and in the same breath tell me that right he can't give me what I need right now, so he had to let me go.
I don't fucking understand.
I'm 30 years old. I've grown exponentially over the last five years or so. I can confidently say that at this point I know what I want out of a relationship and I know what I need. Someone can tell me what they think I need, but they don't know. What I need is something I have lost, and it is him. What I need is everything he gave me - happiness and laughter, silly inside jokes, safety and comfort, mind-blowing, name-forgetting orgasms, a sense of peace, loads of self-confidence. I need it back, because without all of that, without him, I am empty. Completely empty.
He says not being able to love me right now is killing him. Well it fucking better, because I am already dead. Our relationship had been nothing but a natural progression, so I wasn't worried about him taking his time. I was happy to give it to him. But he realized he was being unfair to me and....and it just sucks. I have no control over this.
He says time and space is what he needs and I am giving that to him, as much as it is killing me. It's killing me to wonder where he is and what he's doing, to wonder if he has found solace in someone else's arms, not knowing what's going to happen to us. Every day is a struggle.
Before I left his house the night he ended our relationship, as I stood at the top of the stairs with tears running down my cheeks, I said the three little words that carry the weight of the world, because I knew if I didn't, I'd regret it.
"Whether you want to hear this or not, whether you can accept it or not, I love you. I never dreamed I'd be saying it under these circumstances, but I have to, and you have to hear it. I love you."
And then his tears started.
I thought I knew what heartbreak was. I thought I knew how bad it hurt. I had no fucking idea.
I sobbed my eyes out on my bedroom floor for the millionth time as Lana's voice floated from the speakers, setting my guts on fire because my boyfriend, the man I loved, has ripped out my heart, torn it apart, and dropped it at my feet. It's still lying there and it's starting to rot. I'm tired of looking at it but I don't have the energy to pick it up and put it back where it belongs. No one wants it anyway, not even me.
I need answers.
Like how I could start to believe that our relationship was it, how it was the last one I ever wanted to be in when he wasn't feeling the same way.
Like how someone can shut their emotions down and wall up their heart, and even after two years of building trust and a bond with me that no one on the outside could have broken, still not let me in. How he told me I was perfect, I was the most amazing girlfriend, I was beautiful and just enough crazy for him, that I've done nothing wrong at all, and in the same breath tell me that right he can't give me what I need right now, so he had to let me go.
I don't fucking understand.
I'm 30 years old. I've grown exponentially over the last five years or so. I can confidently say that at this point I know what I want out of a relationship and I know what I need. Someone can tell me what they think I need, but they don't know. What I need is something I have lost, and it is him. What I need is everything he gave me - happiness and laughter, silly inside jokes, safety and comfort, mind-blowing, name-forgetting orgasms, a sense of peace, loads of self-confidence. I need it back, because without all of that, without him, I am empty. Completely empty.
He says not being able to love me right now is killing him. Well it fucking better, because I am already dead. Our relationship had been nothing but a natural progression, so I wasn't worried about him taking his time. I was happy to give it to him. But he realized he was being unfair to me and....and it just sucks. I have no control over this.
He says time and space is what he needs and I am giving that to him, as much as it is killing me. It's killing me to wonder where he is and what he's doing, to wonder if he has found solace in someone else's arms, not knowing what's going to happen to us. Every day is a struggle.
Before I left his house the night he ended our relationship, as I stood at the top of the stairs with tears running down my cheeks, I said the three little words that carry the weight of the world, because I knew if I didn't, I'd regret it.
"Whether you want to hear this or not, whether you can accept it or not, I love you. I never dreamed I'd be saying it under these circumstances, but I have to, and you have to hear it. I love you."
And then his tears started.
I thought I knew what heartbreak was. I thought I knew how bad it hurt. I had no fucking idea.
Me & My Fat Girl Mentality
Something has been bothering me lately that will probably follow me for the rest of my life. It's the fact that no matter how much weight I lose or how in shape I am, I will always maintain my Fat Girl Mentality. Back in 2008, I was a Fat Girl. I weighed in at over 200 pounds and that was a lot for my frame to being carrying around, so the 60 or so pound loss I experienced over the next couple of years, coupled with incorporating a gym routine over the last year has changed my appearance and mind set drastically.
My own personal Fat Girl Mentality really came to light when my boyfriend and I went to Six Flags last week. As we were getting on the Ferris Wheel, I became slightly panicky thinking, "Oh no, the side I'm sitting on is going to droop more than his because I'm a Fat Girl and he is a Skinny Guy. This is so embarrassing." Then it hit me - my boyfriend weighs more than I do. By at least 20 pounds. My paranoia was completely unfounded.
I walked around the amusement park all day, sucking in my gut and pulling my shorts down over my thighs because I was maintaining my Fat Girl Mentality, regardless of the fact that I was disgusted by a lot of other people walking around - men with giant bellies protruding over waistbands, people literally squeezing in and out of the seats on the rollercoasters, little girls in skin tight tank tops clinging to their chubby rolls. (I no longer have rolls when I'm standing up, but I definitely do when I'm sitting down - but we all do, it's pretty much a fact of life no matter what shape or size one is. Plus I was taught to dress to flatter my shape and hide the unsavory parts - something a lot of people must have forgotten how to do.)
I felt pangs of guilt as I munched on a chicken panini sandwich while my boyfriend, who wasn't feeling well, tried to choke down a soft pretzel. I felt pangs of guilt as the sweat trickled down my neck and back while waiting in line for the Batman ride, because we all know that fat people sweat just because they're fat. I felt pangs of guilt as I chugged a bottle of Coke to get some sugar in my system when I started to feel lightheaded because of the heat.
It leads me to wonder if these feelings will ever go away. Will I ever be able to be 100% confident about who I am and how everyone else perceives me? Part of me wonders why I even care - most people seem not to. I walk around wondering if others are dying on the inside the way I do sometimes.
When you've been a Fat Girl or a Fat Guy at some point in your life, it's hard to be happy about the healthy changes you've made, no matter how many people tell you how great you look or ask you what your secret is. Now I'm starting to understand why people succumb to eating disorders. The media bombards us with the notion that we will never look good enough, we will never be pretty or attractive or thin enough, and it's easy to forget that Photoshop is king in the advertising world. (I have plenty to say about that, but another time.)
Sure, I go around saying that I don't deny myself simple pleasures on occasion like a bar of Hershey's chocolate or a fresh, crusty roll from Serpe's Bakery here in Wilmington, because if I did I would go insane. I go around saying, "Don't take my carbs away! I can't live without them!" Even my boyfriend tells me (jokingly, I hope) that if I lose too much weight he would break up with me. He was attracted to me from day one, as were plenty of other men - when I was twenty or thirty pounds heavier. And he supports my quest to be healthier, my quest to be able to run up the stairs to his apartment without becoming winded, my quest to be able to chase my nephew around and not want to collapse from exhaustion.
But the Fat Girl Mentality is still ruling me and I wonder if it will ever go away. I don't want it to be the reason I strive to maintain a healthy lifestyle. I want to maintain a healthy lifestyle so that I'll be around for a while, so that I won't succumb to weight-related diseases when I'm older, so that I can climb on top of my boyfriend and rock his world without thinking twice. I want to do it for me and no one else.
My own personal Fat Girl Mentality really came to light when my boyfriend and I went to Six Flags last week. As we were getting on the Ferris Wheel, I became slightly panicky thinking, "Oh no, the side I'm sitting on is going to droop more than his because I'm a Fat Girl and he is a Skinny Guy. This is so embarrassing." Then it hit me - my boyfriend weighs more than I do. By at least 20 pounds. My paranoia was completely unfounded.
I walked around the amusement park all day, sucking in my gut and pulling my shorts down over my thighs because I was maintaining my Fat Girl Mentality, regardless of the fact that I was disgusted by a lot of other people walking around - men with giant bellies protruding over waistbands, people literally squeezing in and out of the seats on the rollercoasters, little girls in skin tight tank tops clinging to their chubby rolls. (I no longer have rolls when I'm standing up, but I definitely do when I'm sitting down - but we all do, it's pretty much a fact of life no matter what shape or size one is. Plus I was taught to dress to flatter my shape and hide the unsavory parts - something a lot of people must have forgotten how to do.)
I felt pangs of guilt as I munched on a chicken panini sandwich while my boyfriend, who wasn't feeling well, tried to choke down a soft pretzel. I felt pangs of guilt as the sweat trickled down my neck and back while waiting in line for the Batman ride, because we all know that fat people sweat just because they're fat. I felt pangs of guilt as I chugged a bottle of Coke to get some sugar in my system when I started to feel lightheaded because of the heat.
It leads me to wonder if these feelings will ever go away. Will I ever be able to be 100% confident about who I am and how everyone else perceives me? Part of me wonders why I even care - most people seem not to. I walk around wondering if others are dying on the inside the way I do sometimes.
When you've been a Fat Girl or a Fat Guy at some point in your life, it's hard to be happy about the healthy changes you've made, no matter how many people tell you how great you look or ask you what your secret is. Now I'm starting to understand why people succumb to eating disorders. The media bombards us with the notion that we will never look good enough, we will never be pretty or attractive or thin enough, and it's easy to forget that Photoshop is king in the advertising world. (I have plenty to say about that, but another time.)
Sure, I go around saying that I don't deny myself simple pleasures on occasion like a bar of Hershey's chocolate or a fresh, crusty roll from Serpe's Bakery here in Wilmington, because if I did I would go insane. I go around saying, "Don't take my carbs away! I can't live without them!" Even my boyfriend tells me (jokingly, I hope) that if I lose too much weight he would break up with me. He was attracted to me from day one, as were plenty of other men - when I was twenty or thirty pounds heavier. And he supports my quest to be healthier, my quest to be able to run up the stairs to his apartment without becoming winded, my quest to be able to chase my nephew around and not want to collapse from exhaustion.
But the Fat Girl Mentality is still ruling me and I wonder if it will ever go away. I don't want it to be the reason I strive to maintain a healthy lifestyle. I want to maintain a healthy lifestyle so that I'll be around for a while, so that I won't succumb to weight-related diseases when I'm older, so that I can climb on top of my boyfriend and rock his world without thinking twice. I want to do it for me and no one else.
Same Advice, Different Perspective
Last week I had to give an exit interview, something I was completely unprepared for but one of my supervisors was kind enough to give me the rundown beforehand. I was asked to give three positive points of my experience with this company and three negative ones. I was asked if my "new" job is one I sought out or if it came to me, about how my supervisors handled the department, etc, etc.
It was a piece of cake for the most part, I mean, the reason I'm leaving has nothing to do with the company - it's a personal decision. I thought what my career life needed was 40 hour weeks, HR departments, repetition, but I was wrong. I thought I could handle not going into work until 12:30 and getting home anywhere between 9 and 10 at night. I was wrong. I thought I wouldn't miss being behind the camera, but I was wrong.
I explained all of this to Pat, the woman who conducted the interview and we ended up spending more time talking about photography and art than we did discussing technicalities. She told me stories of her sister's husband's father who made his living with a photography business. Her cousin was an Allstate insurance agent for 30 years before selling his business and pursuing his true passion, which was oil painting. She said he would go through phases where he'd go to work, go home, paint all night, and do it all over again, day after day. Then he sold his business and moved to Florida, then wound up in New York City, and is still exploring his artistic passion.
Then she told me about a friend of her's that lived in Ohio. When it came time for her son to have his senior portraits done, she tracked down a photographer who could give them something different (very common in the Midwest - hiring a different photographer other than the one the school uses to get more out of the experience.) One day not long after her son had his portraits done, the woman dropped dead from some sort of aneurysm. Pat looked at me and said, "I said all of that to say this, something my mother told me time and again - you never know when it will all be over. You have to live in the moment, because before you know it, it could all come to an end."
I said, "That's exactly what my own mother tells me. I have the hardest time with it, and am working hard at not over-thinking the past or the future, but concentrating on the present. I have all the reason in the world to, especially when I think of what my own family has gone through."
"You're doing just that by going back to your passion."
I could have cried.
It was a piece of cake for the most part, I mean, the reason I'm leaving has nothing to do with the company - it's a personal decision. I thought what my career life needed was 40 hour weeks, HR departments, repetition, but I was wrong. I thought I could handle not going into work until 12:30 and getting home anywhere between 9 and 10 at night. I was wrong. I thought I wouldn't miss being behind the camera, but I was wrong.
I explained all of this to Pat, the woman who conducted the interview and we ended up spending more time talking about photography and art than we did discussing technicalities. She told me stories of her sister's husband's father who made his living with a photography business. Her cousin was an Allstate insurance agent for 30 years before selling his business and pursuing his true passion, which was oil painting. She said he would go through phases where he'd go to work, go home, paint all night, and do it all over again, day after day. Then he sold his business and moved to Florida, then wound up in New York City, and is still exploring his artistic passion.
Then she told me about a friend of her's that lived in Ohio. When it came time for her son to have his senior portraits done, she tracked down a photographer who could give them something different (very common in the Midwest - hiring a different photographer other than the one the school uses to get more out of the experience.) One day not long after her son had his portraits done, the woman dropped dead from some sort of aneurysm. Pat looked at me and said, "I said all of that to say this, something my mother told me time and again - you never know when it will all be over. You have to live in the moment, because before you know it, it could all come to an end."
I said, "That's exactly what my own mother tells me. I have the hardest time with it, and am working hard at not over-thinking the past or the future, but concentrating on the present. I have all the reason in the world to, especially when I think of what my own family has gone through."
"You're doing just that by going back to your passion."
I could have cried.
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