Getting there

It's been too long since I "wrote", though this is hardly writing. Tapping isn't writing. Writing makes your middle finger calloused and your wrist a bit sore (an unfortunate side effect of making tapping your exclusive means of communicating).

I miss the written word, but it's found me since I've been in Chicago. Inching up on two months now, incidentally. Sometimes I feel robbed of the time that has passed. So much of it has been spent worrying. I had a chat with my mom yesterday about how all the worrying we do is so inconclusive; so perfectly useless. It make me mad when I do it and can't snap out of it. That's where I was at last week. My counselor and I talk about it quite a bit. She says things like "Don't be so hard on yourself" (she's just getting to know me, folks) and "You need to give these new habits some time."

I am facing a lot while I'm here that I've been delaying for many years.

It's not just being where my dad was and him not being here anymore.

It's not just having to search for grass, and planning a commute that can't really be planned (thank you, CTA).

It's much, much deeper than that. I am facing my fear of inadequacy. My fear of challenge, and subsequent failure. I am facing this under the guise of some oppressive personalities. I'm going through a lot, and honoring that.

But what's even more work is to understand that this transition is precisely what had to happen. I couldn't continue safely tiptoeing through life. Well, I could but eventually, all of my insecurities would have bubbled up and I'd have a baby on one arm, inching toward 40 and the change would be much more difficult to traverse.

And so I'm grateful. And not just because this is happening, but because I have the backdrop and landscape I've always wanted. I have a beautiful home, a unwavering husband and the safety and security of having planned well so far.

So I face the challenges, still. And will continue to do so. . . confident that I have to go through this to feel good.

Catharsis

The sun and the rhythm of the train are at my back. Both are creatures of habit, same as me, and when the sun sets it's a different kind of pacing that the El takes on. . . it's slow and lazy and rippling with an underbelly. The wind is blowing today too, and there's cold air coming soon. The fallout of what was to be a ferocious storm that thankfully wasn't.

I'm sitting here basking in the warmth that comes when the breeze stops, and loving the brush of chill on the back of my neck. It's this up and down feeling of wanting a sweater and hanging on just another few breaths, showing up the chill to keep my spot in the sun's path.

I fight against urges like this all the time. It's part of what's made me sad when I've had sad moments the past month and a half. I don't like upticks in tempo, especially when I specifically asked for something lento. I'm the conductor of this here life, but I haven't been lately. . . and I can't be until I give in and go with the flow.

I am about to grow and it's going to be an amazing thing. This experience I'm having will teach me something, I just can't see past a huge pillar of negative energy that stands before me. I'm struggling to see the good instead of focusing on the good. That's disturbing. That's where I need help.

But what I do know is what happens next is the stuff that will be transformative. It will be hard, and it will hurt and I will struggle and then. . . it will be calm, and ok and breezy. With just an occasional rumble on the rickety tracks.

I really forgot what it's like to grow. Sometimes it requires a lot of self and a proactive approach and other times you're just thrust into a place, and you have to decide to bear it and prosper or stay shy and never know what could have been.

To coming out from under it all. . . and (eventually) rising above.

I'm a believer

Once you realize you are in charge, things change. Something occurred to me this weekend about my role in this transition I'm undergoing. The reality is that much of it is in my control. How I respond to the force that brings negative energy, how I approach situations. . . I don't have the toolbox yet to make it 100 percent successful, but that's what the next month is about. Gathering the resources and tools I need to get going on making this transition a success for me.

It won't be easy. I can say that I lack motivation because of a bully at work, but I shouldn't be motivating for her or for anyone else. I should do it for me, and give myself the opportunity to shine. Really try my hardest, not just pretend. And reap the rewards of doing my best, my real best, which is a best I have yet to discover I think.

That's the hardest part about all of this is the self-discovery. I remember lying in bed at night growing up and my legs would hurt quite literally from growing pains. What's happening now hurts too. It's all-consuming and daunting and difficult, but I think, if looked at another way, it's a real test of my stamina and ability to weather change. Up until now, I've been less than good at both.

But I have to get good at it now because, if not at this gig, it will be at another that I'm put to the test. There will be more transitions in life. Many more. And I have to believe in myself that I can do it. For me. Not for anyone else.

Amazing what a foreign feeling that is. And so, I leave you with the high/low of this weekend. High was seeing Meredith and Pete yesterday. Good grief, we wish they lived here.

Low was the ongoing self-doubt and inability to accept this gift I've been given, to live in a great place and be with my great husband and conquer challenges I've never had to face AND be successful. I'm working on that one, but it may be a low for awhile. Patience please!

Attack

My mom sent me an email this morning with the subject line "attack". Awesome. Can't wait to open that one. Much to my chagrin, a woman was assaulted last night only two blocks away outside of our local grocery store. These were all the details I had so of course I was a little shaken, but it's the "Big City". This shit happens, so to speak.

Come to find out she told two homeless people, when approached for a cigarette, that they should "Get a job." They bashed her teeth in and she's in critical condition at Northwestern Hospital.

So there's a couple things there that, for me, would never happen. I don't generally talk to homeless folk. It's not out of spite or malice or anything evil. It's just self-defense. Sadly most of the forgotten are mentally ill and any sudden movement or eye cast sideways could be a trigger. I'm not being dramatic, I'm being realistic. Engaging is tough, though it's incredibly hard to ignore the despair and destitution that sits under your nose and idles alongside you down the street.

I also never say anything derogatory. It's just not necessary. Being homeless is dehumanizing enough. I can imagine you become invisible, desperate and, to some, sub-human. It makes my stomach tighten out of the conflict of whether to help or not and whether any help is really doing any good. More than a dollar or a carton of food, I'd like to send them to a shelter, get them off drugs, give them some professional training. . . intervene on the state of affairs.

The city is an amazing and tragic place all at once. I was walking past Salvatore Ferragamo today on Michigan Ave. thinking who has the gaul to buy a $2,000 handbag. In an overt display of irony, a homeless man held a sign asking, "Money for beer, please. If you were me, you'd ask too."

Whereas in Michigan I was pleasantly, passively ignorant to dire straits, it's right here in my face every day, every block. For a reason.

Getting real

I got a runner's high today, so now I kind of get it. . . there's so much going on in my brain that I needed to get next to water and breathe in semi-fresh air and be amongst the elements. I pounded the pavement and felt the pain and felt better. It's important to do this. Critical, as a matter of fact.

And I've been striving to feel better for some time now. My approach has changed. A lot of it is due to my forever and always partner in crime, Miss Angela. You see, I'm nice. I've always been nice and truly I always will be. But there are situations in life where I have to stick up for myself and I often don't do a good job. Sometimes that's inconsequential, but with what I'm faced with right now I can't afford to roll over and take it. Oy.

I'm going to ask for what I need and tell it like it is. I am going to avoid getting angry by coaching and making sure I'm not only heard, but listened to. At the end of the day, everyone around me just wants my best. Little do some know that, to get my best, I require a little food and water. A specific kind. Good news is, I'm not afraid to share with anyone what that is.

And that's what changes tomorrow. Was the weekend still polluted with worrying and anxiety? Shit yeah. But that's my M.O. more often than not. What's different is I get to begin reaping the benefits of being assertive. Calm and assertive.

I'll keep you posted.

Bully in the China Shop

Holy rollercoaster, Batman. It's no mistake that I haven't posted in weeks. I've been under a lot of stress. Invisible, toxic stress that I'm rather finished with at this point. There is one person in my new sphere that doesn't get it. She's a bully and I haven't encountered one in a long time.

I officially hit rock bottom, but as with drug addicts around the world, the rock bottom is where reality sets in. The fact that I have choices in life; in particular with my attitude, my approach. . . me, period. I'm going to need some new tools to get through this new phase, so I'll enlist some help and build up my arsenal.

I've just been protected from negativity for so long. Was able to surround myself with goodness with relative ease. The walls of the fortress were largely impenetrable and when someone did come knocking, they went away after too long.

Not now. There's one under my nose, fighting for my spirit. I can't look down or it's over. But I need to figure out how to stay focused on the path ahead. I didn't come equipped with that skill and now I have a lot of learning to do.

Friends, this will not be what defines me, this struggle between good and reasonable and somewhat evil and irrational. But it will test me and just as with anything it's up to me to pass the test or not. Either way, failure won't happen.

Day by day.

On the Same Page

I can say with some certainly that part of my reason for being is to translate. Not in the traditional sense, from English to Spanish and back, for example. Rather reading and deciphering body language; staying attune to behavior and responding in such a way that I'm still good. I'm still in the clear, because I get it.

I'd say it's a talent, but I've always been a listener to things both loud and imperceptible. It bodes well for me in professional environments in particular. My boss today likened me to one of the Olympians on the U.S. Olympic team.

*waiting for laughing to subside* *seeing irony and laughing myself*

On every team, there's someone who rides the middle, grounds the rest and keeps everything in tune. I absorb dissonant sounds and sponge negativity so it ends at my feet, lying like a fallen branch. There's no room for that in my tree as it were. Turns out, other people know this, sense this, hire me for this. My boss called me an anchor today. Like the gymnast on the U.S. squad, whom the NBC announcer praised. I'm a necessary part of any ship that's otherwise powerful but needs to stop and take a rest and just sway for awhile.

I find it pretty cool that those who have known me for ten days get that about me. It was one of my dad's greatest gifts. The calm in the storm, staying the course, gently rocking. . . but safe and still. It's my hope that my influence in an otherwise tumultuous landscape of cubes can help steady the course a bit here in Chicago.

I'm supposed to be here. . . doing this.