Launch/Relaunch

Relaunch: Baby Steps

2010-05-19T14:18:00.000-07:00

The other day in the bookstore, I saw a book called “Women Who Do Too Much.” Ha. I’d like to write my own book on the subject. Its title would go something like: “Women Who Try To Do More Than Any Human Being Could Realistically Accomplish In One Lifetime, and Because of This Fact, Become Anxious, Overwhelmed and Mired in Self-Loathing.” I wonder if anyone would buy it. Probably not. I wouldn’t even buy it, and it’s my life story.

Wanting to do too much is my curse and my downfall. Of course, on the silver-lining side of things, this surely indicates that I have a lot of hobbies and interests and ideas and aspirations. Right? But the tarnish on that silver is the fact that having too many goals and interests makes it difficult to be productive. If I’m not doing everything, for some reason, I find it difficult to accomplish anything. I’m staring at a self-imposed mountain of tasks, and I’m so overwhelmed, I freeze up and do nothing. It makes for a very scattered, unfocused and frustrating life.

“So why don’t you just do one thing?” a friend asked me recently. Of course that sounds perfectly logical. Unless you’re me. If I’m doing just one thing, what happens to the other things? What if I never get to them? How can I abandon them like that? It’s like telling me I can only have one friend. Or that I’m only allowed to eat chocolate ice cream. Sure, I like chocolate ice cream. I like it a lot. But what about black raspberry and mocha almond fudge? And butterscotch ripple and mint chocolate chip? I want it all. For example, if I’m focused on my writing, I feel guilty about not doing my music. If I’m doing my music, I’m not creating artwork. If I’m creating artwork, I’m not focused on my writing. And if I’m doing any of these things, obviously I’m not cleaning the house, organizing the basement, or paying the bills. Yes, this can be a torturous internal monologue. Yes, I drive myself absolutely crazy. No doubt I drive Hubby crazy, too. If there’s one thing harder than being me, it might be being married to me.

And so, I have come up with a potential solution. To sum up: Baby Steps. It’s like that old adage about every journey beginning with a single step, instead of trying to run a marathon in twelve directions all at once and finding out that the finish line is getting further away with every flail. Or something like that.

Taking baby steps means setting aside an hour to write, and allowing myself to enjoy the process, instead of being upset that I haven’t completed an entire draft of a novel, and its sequel, too. It means focusing on trying to learn one song on the guitar and find some joy in it, instead of being impatient with myself for not being ready to perform solo. It means cleaning out one box in one corner of the basement instead of reprimanding myself for not reorganizing the entire downstairs.

Baby steps means slowing down and focusing on one thing at a time, trying to enjoy the present, and reveling in the fact that at least I‘m further along than I was before. Even baby steps feel like progress.

Now, if I can only remember this…

-Callie

Launch: What Do You Do with a B.A. in English?

2010-05-04T11:27:00.001-07:00

So it's about time for me to find a new job. A real job. With a salary. Hopefully a career. The trouble is that I have no idea where to begin. A lot of my classmates in college seemed to know exactly where they wanted to go with their lives, they had their career path picked out, and were applying to grad schools while I was realizing that I needed an extra semester to finish up my bachelor's degree. I'm about a year out of college now, and I still have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life. It's extremely difficult to make a living doing the things I'm most passionate about, namely music-especially singing- and writing. But I need to find something that I can be happy doing, because this hourly wage business is just not enough. I love my job, but I'm barely keeping myself afloat.

The song "What Do You Do With A B.A. In English" from the musical Avenue Q pretty much sums up my feelings on the whole subject. I've been searching for jobs on all those job searching websites, from monster.com to Yahoo! Jobs, to the new marketplace feature on Facebook. It's difficult to put in what I want and get something back that fits my needs. I entered that I need something at an entry-level position, because as the song says, "I have no skills yet", and although I've specified that I don't have any experience in...pretty much anything, nearly all the job postings that come up in my searches require at least three years of experience in the field. I still have a few months before I absolutely NEED a real job, my lease is up in September, but there is a time limit on it, and as it is I'm living paycheck to paycheck. I'd like to be able to buy new clothes or go out to eat with my friends without worrying that I won't have enough money to pay next month's rent. I was thinking that I'd try to make this entry inspiring and...helpful or something, but the truth is that this is supposed to be a chronicle of my journey into adulthood or whatever, and right now I'm struggling a little. I have the utmost confidence that I'll figure it out, but I haven't, yet. Stay tuned.

~Fae

Relaunch: Please, tell me I have ADD!

2010-03-10T06:37:00.000-08:00

"I am so scattered," I told my Life Coach during a recent appointment. "I can't seem to focus on anything."

I described to Coach a typical morning in my pathetically unfocused life. I start washing the dishes, then stop to write an important e-mail. In the middle of the e-mail, I remember I have to put the laundry in the dryer. After loading half of the damp clothes into the dryer, I recall the urgent phone call I need to make. Somebody left a voicemail, so I listen to that, hang up, and completely forget to make the call. I'm upstairs making the bed when I remember I never finished making that call, or putting the laundry in the dryer. Once downstairs, the sight of my computer reminds me that I've neglected this blog for way too long and need to write another installment. I sit down to write, and meanwhile, never finished the dishes, the email, or made that call, and my laundry is starting to smell funny so I will need to wash it all over again.

"Scattered," I repeated. "Can't get anything done. Driving myself crazy."

"Hmm," said Coach. "Is it possible that you could have ADD?"

Attention Deficit Disorder. Wow, did that ever ring true. I definitely have a deficit in the attention department. It was redeeming and somehow comforting to put a name and potential diagnosis to my dilemma. And, I realized, there are drugs for this. A pill to take, to make it better. The thought of being able to take a get-organized pill was incredibly compelling. So I went to a specialist, and I took a detailed written test, to determine the extent of my ADD.

I got a 96 on that test. The overachiever in me was proud. But the fact is, that number allegedly revealed that I am more scattered, unfocused and spacey than 96% of women my age. Only 4% are worse off than me. Yikes.

With this test in hand, I then went to see my primary care doctor, in the hopes that he would write me a prescription for that magic pill. Adderol, perhaps. Or Ritalin. Something to make my fuzzy brain think and plan more clearly. After a few weeks or so, surely I'd be able to finish my latest novel, master my complicated voice-over software, land that fabulous new job, and organize all my closets. I wanted that prescription, bad. And since I scored an A+ in ADD, how could he say no?

"No," he said, peering at me over his glasses. "I don't think you have ADD. I've been your doctor for ten years now, and I've never gotten that vibe from you." I showed him the test again, told him how unfocused and unproductive I've been lately, but he shook his head. I wanted to cry. If I didn't get a pill for ADD, how was I going to handle my attention deficit?

There was still hope, however. My doctor sent me off to a different specialist for an evaluation, a psychiatrist he trusted who also screens people for ADD. So off I went, and the first thing she did was give me another written test. Again, I aced it. Feeling vindicated, I waited for her to hand over the prescription and send me on my way.

Instead, she looked me over, and asked me some pointed questions. Did I have trouble focusing as a child in school, or have trouble graduating from college? Well, no. I mean, I was distracted from time to time, (what kid isn't?), but I did just fine. And when I got my masters degree a few years ago, I had no trouble fulfilling the requirements. In fact, I reveled in the whole experience.

Clearly, I had no history of ADD. And, the doctor pointed out, it's not something you "catch" one day out of the blue, like a virus. So she asked what was going on in my life. And I told her. About all the changes. About moving, and children leaving home, and job losses and personal losses and perceived failures big and small. And without meaning to, I started to cry. I cried through most of my explanation.

When I was finished, the psychiatrist nodded thoughtfully, and asked, "Tell me, could you be depressed?"

I stared at her through my tears, completely stunned. "No, I'm not depressed!" This set me off on a brand new crying jag.

"Feeling scattered and unfocused can be symptoms," she insisted. "Not everybody is immobilized and stays in bed all day when they're depressed. You can be fairly functional, and yet still suffer from depression."

Depression? This came as a shock. I have always seen myself as a cheerful person, someone who could take just about anything life throws at me, emote through it, and move on. Depression is something other people have to deal with. Not me.

Well, apparently, there are different manifestations of depression, and this is mine. It could be situational, brought on by too much change for me to handle all at once. It's possible that I will move beyond this unsettled phase in time, and all will be well.

In the meantime, I got my prescription. Not a magical get-organized pill, like I was hoping for, but a low level anti-depressant. It hasn't made me wildly productive, but it has eased a bit of the scattered turmoil in my soul. I cry less, find that my emotions are easier to navigate.

Another step in the right direction, I hope. A humbling one, at that.

- Callie

Launch: Broadening Horizons

2010-02-03T19:05:00.000-08:00

About three years ago, my paternal grandfather passed away. He was 95 years old and lived a full life. He loved to travel and he and my grandmother traveled all over the world until he was no longer able. That's why I decided to use a portion of the money he left me to go on a trip. From January 8th until the 15th, my roomie and I went to Reykjavik, Iceland.

Now, you're probably wondering, Why Iceland?, and I know, it seems completely random. But there's a story behind it! My roommate was looking for work abroad programs with the intent of maybe getting an au pair job in England or somewhere else English-speaking (she's a preschool teacher), but as she was looking through the listings, she stumbled across a work abroad program in Iceland for Americans and Canadians. The program involved spending a few weeks in Iceland building troll houses. In Iceland they're big on their mythology and a lot of people still insist that trolls are real. My roommate and I thought that the program sounded both hilarious and fun, so we looked into it a little more, and it turned out that we'd missed the deadline by a couple of days. So instead, Roomie went looking through vacation packages, and as there was an economic crash in Iceland recently, the price was great.

So we got our passports all sorted out, my parents gave me cold weather gear for Christmas and the two of us set off on my first trip overseas, and the longest vacation I'd ever taken without my parents.

And it was amazing. The country itself lies on the border between tectonic plates, so there are active volcanoes and earthquakes that shape the land. We visited waterfalls, glaciers, geysers, and fissures created by the plates moving apart. We went horseback riding through the countryside on Icelandic Horses who have been isolated on the island since they were brought there hundreds and hundreds of years ago. We went caving in a lava tube and heard a traditional ghost story in compete darkness. We ate traditional Icelandic food and fell in love with Skyr, a yogurt-like product famous for being high in protein and low in calories. We bathed in thermal pools. We stood on black sand beaches and watched the waves roll in. We went hunting for the Northern Lights. The sun rose at 11am and the sunsets seemed to last for hours. The entire experience was exhausting and neither of us have fully recovered yet, but it was definitely something that will be a lifelong memory. A once in a lifetime adventure. I think my grandfather would be proud.

~Fae

Relaunch: My Career Coach (Part 2)

2010-01-14T06:27:00.000-08:00

One of the first things my new Career Coach did after listening to me ramble on and on about my unfulfilled plans and goals, was ask me to take a Myers-Briggs test.

Most people are familiar with Myers-Briggs, because it is well-regarded test to help assess an individual’s personality type. After identifying that type, it is presumably easier to zero in on jobs that would fit. Funny, but at first, the results of the test sounded like my horoscope, which usually goes something like this: “You are a Gemini. You are restless and gregarious. You seek adventure and you are a good friend. Your earth sign is air and your lucky number is 5.”

But unlike a random one-size-fits-all horoscope, the Myers-Briggs bases its conclusions on a multi-question test assessing a person’s actions and feelings in various situations. Therefore, I am not only a Gemini. I am also an ENFP. And (very) strangely enough, they’re somewhat similar.

The “E” stands for Extraversion, the “N” for Intuition, the “F” for Feeling, and the “P” for Perceiving. Without getting too deeply into these categories, (since you might already know, and/or can research them elsewhere), an ENFP is typically an enthusiastic innovator with a lot of imagination for starting new projects, but not so hot at follow-through. (Wow, do those people know me??) As it turns out, ENFPs are also energized by being around other people and are good with inter-personal skills. (Figures, I have a job that requires me to be alone much of the time.)

Then Coach asked me to do something kind of strange. She asked me to sign my name on a piece of paper. After I did, she asked me to switch the pen to my other hand (I’m a lefty, so I switched to my right) and sign my name again. Sticking my tongue out like Charlie Brown, I concentrated on trying to write my name, and it still came out looking like a preschooler’s attempt.

Coach explained that this exercise was to illustrate that there are things that come naturally to me, like being creative and people-oriented. But there are also those that I struggle with, like marketing myself or following through on tedious details. But I have to make myself do the things that don’t come easily, she said, even though I don’t like them, in order to be successful. It’s not that I should berate myself for the things I suck at. (Even though I often do.) Just as I was born left-handed, I was born with certain skills. And without others.

So, my challenge right now is to do the things I don’t like, in order to get to the things I do. Of course, the thing I want most is to have an interesting, creative job, where I can work with interesting, creative people. But unfortunately, the thing I hate most, is looking for it.

- Callie

Launch: Social Networking

2009-12-01T13:16:00.000-08:00

I am clearly a child of the Facebook age. When Facebook was first created, it was only for college students, and you had to wait for your school to be added to the network before you could join. My freshman year of college, my university was added, and I created my Facebook profile the moment I found out. Since then it's been five years, and I have over 600 Facebook friends from a ton of different places. I've got my college friends of course, but not just them. Facebook's horizons have expanded and now I'm friends with people from high school, my middle school in the Chicago area, the kids of my parents' college friends that we used to meet up with about once a year, family (including both my parents...and a lot of their friends), and even my best friend from kindergarten, who I haven't seen in over sixteen years, since we were both seven. I've even added internet friends that I've never met in person, and most recently, half of the people who work at the bookstore with me.

I am instantly connected to over 600 people that I've met throughout my life with the touch of a button. I've even been posting to Facebook when I update this blog, and while I know not all 621 people I have friended will read it, if they really want to know what's going on with me it's easier than ever. People used to have to wait for Christmas cards with newsy letters about family goings-on to stay connected with friends and family, but with Facebook, keeping in contact with people is so simple that thousands and thousands of miles barely matter at all.

The trouble I have with social networking sites is that when I'm connected to so many people with so little effort, it's difficult to remember to actually take the effort to get together with people in person. Why drive four hours back to my university when I can check up on all my old friends in a matter of minutes on Facebook? Why bother to leave the house at all when I don't have to go anywhere to have a meaningful conversation with somebody? I'm a huge fan of laying around my apartment in my pajamas, so being able to keep connected with so many people without even having to get dressed seems like a blessing, right?

Except that social networking isn't a replacement for a good face-to-face conversation. One of my goals as part of being sucessfully launched is to create a strong social network in real life so that I spend less time being a couch potato and letting my life pass me by while I follow everyone else's on Facebook. And this is a huge challenge for me! I've never been good at instigating events with friends and when I was in high school I'd never call my friends, preferring to wait for them to call me so I'd be sure I wasn't imposing myself on them. So part of what I need to work on is realizing that I'm awesome and that people actually enjoy spending time with me so that I can take action and make plans with these people that I care a great deal about but haven't seen in such a long time. I need to learn to use Facebook as a tool to keep connected to people rather than as the only means of communication at all. Maybe I'll use the Events function to invite people to a holiday party or finally organize a trip to a karaoke bar for me and a few of my coworkers. With Facebook there's really no excuse to let these things slide.

~Fae

Relaunch: Are We There Yet?

2009-11-18T15:15:00.000-08:00

So now that Fae and I are in the midst of orchestrating our respective launch and relaunch, we thought it might be helpful to sit ourselves down and identify exactly what it will mean to us to each of us to arrive. A glimpse of what the destination is supposed to look like, so we can know we’re there once we’re there.

For me, a few things will need to have fallen into place before I can say I have been successfully relaunched. It’s about a fulfilling, rewarding, creative job. It’s about a paycheck I can be proud of. It’s about community. It’s about finding and maintaining a calm center so I can be a strong presence for children who are waxing and parents who are waning. (I was tempted to make a salon joke around the “waxing” thing, but I refrained. You’re welcome.)

This is how I envision my successfully relaunched self: I have a great part-time job; maybe something like writing and voice-over work in the media center of a college. There’s that whole office-life camaraderie, making jokes and talking about what was on the news last night. I miss co-workers, and I miss the structure of a job outside the home. Free-lancing is totally self-generated, and when I’m writing, I’m alone. I’m tired of being alone so much. If I can satisfy my need to be around people in a structured job, it seems it would be easier for me to focus on those creative endeavors that require solitude. Writing magazine articles and getting them published, for example. Finishing novel #2 and pitching it to agents. Setting up that home studio.

The “community” part of this equation may have something to do with a church, but it may not. I’ve belonged to churches that were our social center, and I’ve been at churches that fall short of providing any feeling of community at all. At the moment, we are between churches, and as a preacher’s daughter who has always been part of a church family, I feel the lack of that. But along with everything else in my life, I’m looking for something new, including a church that feeds and nurtures this new self, and I haven’t found it yet.

As for the calm center part, I could write a whole blog about that. I used to pray. I used to be able to close my eyes and breath deep and feel some sort of peaceful well inside from which to draw strength. Over the past several years, I feel like that well has gone dry. Trying to go inward has only made me anxious and restless. My Life Coach is teaching me meditation techniques. I’ve started a gratitude journal and am seeking one of those calming indoor fountains. Every day I try to quiet my mind by taking deep breaths, listening to soft music, and trying to be mindful. It’s not easy. My brain is always latching onto distractions that take me from that center. But I’m working on it.

There are many puzzle pieces in a life, and it helps to remind myself that some are already in place. For example, there is music in my life, both my band and the a cappella group. We have good friends. We feel settled in our home of two years, and are getting acquainted with our neighbors. And although my parents are failing in big and small ways, I am doing a fair job of being there for them. (Can one ever do enough?)

So, “are we there yet?” No, not yet. But we are on our way, for sure.

Callie

Launch: Are We There Yet?

2009-11-18T13:09:00.000-08:00

So the point of this blog is supposed to be to chronicle my mom's and my launch into...well. For me I suppose it's a launch into adulthood, and for her it's a launch into some kind of newfound independence. But how do we know when we've gotten there? What has to happen before I can say "Okay, I did it"? I don't think there's going to be a moment where it just happens, but I think setting some goals...some achievable goals, is a good start.

To me being launched is going to involve being completely financially independent of my parents. Which I am not right now. I'm paying my own rent, buying my own groceries, and covering the cable and electric bills, but my parents are still generously covering my car insurance, my cellphone bill, and various other expenses that I can't quite cover on my own yet. So I guess that I'll consider myself officially launched when I'm able to pay for all that stuff on my own. The biggest goal, then, is to get a job that pays enough to cover all that stuff. I love my job at the bookstore, but that clearly isn't going to cut it forever. In fact I'm a little bit worried about my expenses for this month.

But there are other goals that I'd like to accomplish on the way. Smaller, less important things that don't really have a tangible reward at the end. For example, I'd like to get in shape and lose a little more weight. Over the last few years I've lost about 40lbs, but I have a little way to go before I'll really be comfortable in my own skin. Of course, that kind of a struggle is one of those things that I'll be worried about for the rest of my life, so I don't really want to hinge my launch on a goal like that. But I still want to set the goal so that I'm not putting it off until who knows when.

Other goals include getting involved in some kind of musical group (unfortunately, I didn't end up getting into that group I auditioned for a few weeks ago), creating a social network so that I don't spend as much time lying around at home like a lump (I'm working on this!), and getting out and finding myself a nice boy (I've never been in a serious relationship, although I've been trying to get out and date a little bit recently).

So clearly I've got a long way to go before I've officially launched, and even further before I have the kind of life that I want, but I think that just setting the goals and being where I am is a great starting point. I've moved out of my parents' house, I'm at least surviving so far (although again, my parents are still helping a lot), and I know what I want, even if I've been terrible about actually getting off my butt and getting things accomplished. It's pretty daunting to look at all the things I want to get done and how much work it's going to take to get them, but the last few years have been pretty tough, and I've discovered that I can handle a lot.

My biggest obstacle at this point is finding the motivation to get it all done. But once I figure that out, it'll be smooth sailing.

I hope.

~Fae

Relaunch: My Life/Career Coach (Part 1)

2009-11-03T13:37:00.000-08:00

I can’t remember the first time I heard the term “Life Coach” (a quick Internet search suggests that Life Coaches have been around for the past twenty years, which sounds about right), but ever since that time, I’ve wished I had one.

Call me crazy, but I love the idea of having someone blowing a whistle in my face, telling me to get out there kid, and break a sweat and give your all and win, dammit, win (not that a Life Coach actually does this, of course). With the kind of work I do—freelance writing and voice-overs—it’s important to be self-motivated and self-structured. And I am definitely not these things, especially not lately, in this scattered funk of mine. Somehow over the years, I’ve had reasonable success in spite of my unorganized self, but how much more successful might I be with a Life Coach? This, I decided, is the perfect time to bring in some help. Someone to make me better than I am. Or at least, better than I’m able to be on my own.

And so, a few months ago, I was referred to someone I will call Coach. Coach is not a burly ex-football player in a sweatshirt with a beer gut who yells at me to get out there, suck it up, and win one for the Gipper. Coach is actually a very civilized, lovely woman about my age with a gentle demeanor, a soothing voice, and a warm, encouraging smile.

“What is it you need help trying to achieve?” she asked.

“Well.” I took a deep breath and consulted my list.

My goals include, but are not limited to: Learn the software to set up my own home voice-over studio (for which I’ve already bought all the equipment), hook into online voice-over services, continue to pitch my completed novel until I score an agent, finish writing my second novel and send it to my mentor for critiquing, generate more non-fiction articles for magazines and newspapers, find out how to market my writing on the Internet, finish editing my essays and short stories and send them out for potential publication, possibly get a part-time job outside the house, continue writing and marketing this blog with my daughter. (Those are just the professional goals, now here come some of the personal ones): Get to the gym at least three times a week, care for my new puppy, take guitar lessons and practice daily, promote my band so we can get more gigs, promote my a cappella group so we can get more gigs, find time to journal and meditate to feed my spiritual side, take a poetry class, get back into my art, possibly take a class in pastel drawing, care for my elderly parents, look into volunteer work...

When I glanced back up at Coach, she looked a little dazed. “Traditionally, I get two kinds of clients,” she told me. “Some people come to me not knowing what they want to do with their lives. And others come to me with tons of energy, too many things they want to do, and no idea where to start.”

Uh huh. Well, it’s pretty clear which category I fall under. And so, our work begins.

-Callie

Launch: Reaching Out

2009-10-22T14:24:00.000-07:00

The highlight of my college years was the a cappella group I was a part of during my four (and a half) years there. I've loved singing since I can remember, and being a part of a group singing in tight harmony is one of the best feelings in the world. Since I graduated from college, I've been feeling a sense of loss. Having a creative outlet like a cappella was something that made me happy. Even when I was at my lowest, I looked forward to rehearsals, when I could just sing and make music and know that I was good at something. I've been watching the new show Glee obsessively, getting nostalgic for the singing groups I was a member of starting in fourth grade. I miss it so much.

Luckily, a few weeks ago, at a cousin's wedding, I happened to meet a guy from the Boston area who is in an a cappella group. We got talking about singing and arranging songs, and how much fun it is to be a part of a group, and then and there, without ever hearing me sing, he offered me an audition for his group. I was beyond excited at the prospect of singing a cappella again, but didn't really expect this random guy I met at a wedding to follow through.

But what do you know, a few days later I got an email from the leader of the group inviting me to come to one of their rehearsals and audition. I went into Boston two weeks ago (getting a bit lost on the way there), and sang for them and with them and just being able to sing with a group, even if it was only for a few minutes...I felt whole. I was really nervous and didn't sing my best, but I did what I could and went home with my fingers crossed.

Two days later I recieved an email telling me that I'd received a callback, and last night I went back into Boston (getting lost again) to sing with them for a second time. I was less nervous this time, and I think I did well, but you never know. Now I'm just waiting to hear back from them, checking my email every few minutes obsessively.

I really hope I get in. Singing is my favorite thing to do in the entire world, and I feel like it's important to have it be a part of my life, even if everything else is a little crazy. If I don't get in, God forbid, then I think my next step will be to look for another singing group in the area. It's too important to me to let go.

Wish me luck!

~Fae

Relaunch: Failure

2009-10-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

Failure. Now there’s a word that’s a slam to the gut. No matter what the circumstances are, failure claws at your self-esteem, and it hurts. It’s about feeling less-than. It’s about having your sense of worth compromised in a huge way. And it’s also about worrying that you’ve dropped down a peg or two in the eyes of the people who believe in you, no matter how sympathetic they are.

Failure is not something I’ve had a lot of experience with, and for that, I’m incredibly grateful. When I worked fulltime in radio, I felt valued and respected and wanted for the job I did and the person I was. When the babies were born and I had to cut back my hours, it was made known to me that I had a fulltime job waiting for me whenever I wanted to come back, and they wished it would be soon. That was the opposite of failure. And it felt good.

But that was also twenty-three years ago. About a year ago, when I decided I wanted to make the leap from free-spirited freelancer to fulltime employee (with benefits and everything) for the first time in nearly a quarter-century, those jobs were obviously not still waiting for me.

So I found something completely different. Just about ten months ago, I hooked up with a medical company in the corporate sector. The job involved voice-over work and writing, so at first glance, it seemed like the perfect fit. I figured I could handle the hour commute each way, and actually looked forward to the structure of a nine-to-five life. They hired me as a contract worker for a three-month trial period to start, making more money than I’d ever seen before in any job, ever. It was an exciting time.

Well, for a little while. It didn't take long to realize this company was a horrible fit for me. I was not cut out for the mind-numbing hours, the negative management style, the technological challenges, the nearly non-existent training, and the fact that I ended up not doing what I was hired for. It almost seemed I was being primed to fail. To sum up, I lasted only two months. I wish I could say I got fed up and stormed out of that dysfunctional situation with my head high and my pride intact, but that’s not what happened. Even though I was miserable and cried almost every night on my way home from work, I was too damn stubborn to give up. I ended up getting blind-sided in the HR office, my supervisor too much of a coward even to be present, and was told—very kindly and sympathetically, I might add—that I was no longer an employee. And so I went to my desk, gathered my things, said goodbye to my co-workers and tried not to blubber. In short, it was humiliating.

A friend told me recently that failure is simply the manifestation of being in the wrong place, and that makes perfect sense to me. I did not belong in that company. But the fact remains that I worked hard, and couldn’t make it work. I failed. I was a failure.

But if failure is being in the wrong place, then success is being in the right place, and I’m hot on its trail. Most days, I’m happy to report that I set out with optimism, reminding myself of all the skills I possess, all the possibilities I know in front of me. And most days I can quiet the new, mean voice in the back of my head that whispers, and you might fail at this, too.

Most days.

-Callie

Launch: Settling In

2009-10-01T13:38:00.000-07:00

One again, procrastination has gotten the better of me and I'm sitting at the kitchen table at my parents' house churning out a blog at the very last second. Since the last time I wrote, I've officially moved into my apartment! Woohoo! I'm not living with my parents anymore! This, in and of itself, is a huge accomplishment, one that I'm extremely proud of. I've been actually sleeping there, in my own bed, in my own room, in my own apartment, for almost two weeks. I think I've gotten used to it, to an extent, the way I got used to dorm rooms and sleeping in bunks at summer camp, but it's definitely not home yet.

Part of the reason for that is that I still haven't moved most of my furniture from my bedroom at home to the apartment. My bedroom is mostly empty, save for the bed (full-sized with wheels on the frame so it slides around on the hardwood floors whenever I move in the middle of the night), a few laundry baskets of clean laundry, and several boxes of books that I have yet to unpack which are currently serving as tables for my lamps. It's sufficient for now, but my mom keeps reminding me that getting completely settled in and making it my own will make me a lot happier in the long run. Now to find a time when my parents aren't busy on a day when I'm also free so we can haul bureaus and bookcases up those three flights of stairs.

The best part of being away from home, so far, is my roommate. Let's call her Roomie, for convenience's sake. I met Roomie online about three years ago through my personal blog, and when we found out we lived two towns away from one another we immediately had to meet for lunch and have never looked back. We're ridiculously compatible in so many ways, both easygoing and open-minded, both a little messy, and both kind of addicted to the internet. Even when we're just chilling on the couch, both glued to our laptops, we can share what's going on and understand the context, which is something my parents never really got. We laugh a lot. And we're both at the same places in our lives. This is her first time living away from home (other than college of course) too, and while she's got a career started (she's a preschool teacher), we can commiserate on nearly everything. We're both helpless with the opposite sex, we both hate doing dishes, and we were both eccstatic about the shower curtain we bought, which features a map of the world. I couldn't have wished for a better roommate.

So now that that's all out of the way, I guess it's time for step two, which is finding a better-paying job. I just got my review at the bookstore where I've been working for about a year, and while I scored "skilled" in every area, because of these economic times they can't give me a raise. I make $8.25 an hour. There's something to be said for having a job I absolutely love, but I clearly can't work there forever. So there it is, right in front of me. That next hurdle to jump over. The dreaded job search. I've bought several books at my bookstore on finding the job that's right for you and all that, but have yet to crack them open. Damn you, procrastination.

~Fae

Relaunch: Deja Vu, a.k.a. Fae's First Apartment

2009-09-28T15:39:00.000-07:00

Last week, Fae came into the family room and announced: “Well, this is it, parents. I’m going to my apartment now. I officially live somewhere else.”

Gulp. Although this long-awaited event was no surprise, I have to admit that a voice inside my head whined: No, I’m not ready. But at the same time, a louder voice said: This is good, this is right, it’s time. So I swallowed down the lump in my throat, gave my beautiful firstborn a squeeze and fought tears by reminding myself that even though she won’t be sleeping under the same roof, she’s not going far. Fae’s first apartment is only a half-hour drive away. We made plans to have lunch on Thursday to discuss our blog, and that helped. She’s gone, but not really gone. Besides, her bedroom is still full of stuff, most of it all over the floor. If I miss the essence of Fae, I just need to open the door.

Now. About Fae’s first apartment. If déjà vu actually is a disturbance in the matrix, Keanu Reeves better show up soon, because I’m a little freaked out. There have to be thousands of apartment buildings in the greater Boston area. What are the odds of Fae’s first apartment being in the same town and same apartment complex where I had my very first apartment, back in 1983? This is exactly the case; a weird, spooky kind of coincidence. It wasn’t until after she signed the lease with her roommate and described the complex (a cluster of brick buildings circling a courtyard with a pool at the center) that things started sounding eerily familiar. I’d even forgotten my old address until she mentioned it.

Before Hubby and I stopped by Fae’s apartment for the first time to haul her mattress and box springs up three flights of stairs, I swear I wouldn’t have been able to find my way. Those driving directions have been buried in the “inactive” sector of my brain for 26 years. But as soon as we drove into the complex, it was like dusting off an old scrapbook. Although her building is two doors down from my old building, and she is on the third floor while I lived on the first, the apartment layout is exactly the same. And her bedroom, the smaller of the two (which I’d also inhabited, while my slightly wealthier roommate took the larger one), looks exactly like my old room. I could even offer advice on the best angle for her bed.

While Hubby sat on the floor with Fae to work on the Internet hookup, I sank into a chair and contemplated memories I hadn’t accessed for nearly three decades. During the two years I lived here, I was 24 and 25, just slightly older than Fae, working as a radio copywriter, making barely above minimum wage and eating a lot of soup. Hubby and I were newly in love and I surprised myself by thinking, ya know, I could marry this guy. Memory snapshots came to me, of parties with friends, playing my guitar, drinking wine with my roommate, and having dinner with the couple down the hall.

And as I watched Hubby with Fae, I also felt a pang of jealousy. She has the luxury of having her parents nearby to help as she begins her new life. When I was her age, my parents were in the midst of a heart-breaking divorce. They were hundreds of miles away, both literally and emotionally. There was no way I could call on Dad to help set things up in my apartment, or have lunch with Mom on a random Thursday. Sure, it forced me to be independent. But there was also an element of loss.

So, although our journeys are different, what is identical for Fae and me at that age, (in addition to the weirdly coincidental street address), is the fact that the twenty-something years represent a time of huge transformation. It reminds me of books I read when Fae was a toddler, chronicling the amazing changes that occur in the first few years of life. Surely these next years will be equally transformative. But instead of first steps, first teeth, and first words, it will be new friendships, romances, life experiences and career changes that will color the rest of her life.

- Callie

Relaunch: On the Launch Pad

2009-09-15T12:45:00.000-07:00

This is a blog about a mother (me) and a daughter (Fae), as we contemplate the question: What the hell do I do with the rest of my life?

When my daughter Fae, who is 23 and a recent college graduate, told me she wanted to write a blog chronicling her launch into adulthood, with its gut wrenching combo of excitement, terror and confusion, I felt an empathetic jolt. Stepping into unknown, uncharted waters? Hmm, that sounds familiar. Feeling like the rest of my life is a puzzle, but I lost the box cover so I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like? Uh huh. Wishing someone would hand me a script and say, “Just do this, you’d be great at it!” Oh god, yes.

I am a 51 year old, middle-aged empty nester (gulp, to all of that), looking ahead to the second half of my life with few clues on how to proceed, both professionally and personally. It’s like being 23 all over again, but old.

So I suggested to Fae that we write a mother/daughter blog, to share this experience of launching and re-launching together. Maybe, I suggested, the blogging process could help us along in this journey. Maybe both people her age and those my age would be interested to follow our tandem triumphs and struggles. Plus, it would be fun. Happily, Fae said yes, and we immediately scheduled some fun “business meetings” at restaurants and cafes in our town.

To start, I will say it is my hope that Fae’s initial journey will turn out like mine for the first almost-50 years of my life. After floundering for a while myself after graduation in 1980 (happens to most of us, my Fae), I settled into a career in radio and freelance journalism. Then, Hubby and I got married in 1984. He was a great catch, a guy I met in college choir, and re-met in Boston two years later. Next came family. Fae first, in 1986. Her little sister, I’ll call her BabyGirl, came along in 1988. I had a creative, fulfilling job, a kind and thoughtful husband who made me laugh, a home in the ‘burbs, and two healthy, beautiful daughters. All of this felt like The Way Life Should Be. And for us, it was. It worked for a long time.

But fast forward twenty-some years, to just about the time I turned 48, and I see myself thrown out of my orbit, losing momentum and clarity. To sum up, within about a three-year period: we sold a house, bought a house and moved, Hubby and I each hit the half-century mark, our marriage hit the quarter-century mark (and some unexpected rocky patches to go with it), both daughters left the nest for college, I took a break from my regular work to get a masters degree in creative writing and write two novels, my father-in-law died, my mother went into assisted living, Hubby was laid off from a job he’d had for 27 years and got another job, Hubby was laid off from that job, and got a consulting gig, and I tried a stint in corporate life that bombed in epic style.

Wow. Written out like that, all dry and pat, squeezes the life and heart struggles out of each of these events. Even the good things meant major change (and I hate change – transition makes me disoriented and cranky), and as for the bad stuff, I’m still trying to get the license plate of the truck that hit me.

Ironically, the event that I hoped would further my career—going to grad school—ended up throwing me off course. I’d been writing freelance articles for publications like The Chicago Tribune, and Shape magazine, but I set it all aside to focus on fiction writing for a few years. I don’t regret this for a nanosecond; grad school and fiction writing were my passion and obsession. However, I lost momentum with my other work along the way.

Which brings me to the present. When I came up for air after writing the first draft of novel #2 and decided (due to the economy, Hubby’s uncertain job situation and my own empty-nest restlessness) this would be a great time to return to the workforce, I discovered not only that my former editors and other contacts had moved on while I was busy doing other things, but that the industries I used to know have changed dramatically.

Radio and newspaper. Need I say more? These are two fields that are lumbering like aging dinosaurs toward a tar pit, and if I don’t plan to follow them there, I need to recreate my professional self, stat.

I am 51 years old (damn, that still stings), with skills I don’t know how to plug into the millennial world. Plus, I have suffered some setbacks that have lowered my resistance and made me susceptible to bouts of immobilizing blues. Feeling lost and frustrated and scattered are common states for me these days. Even so, on a good day, I’m able to tap into rich stores of excitement and hope for the future. And If I can figure out how to coax them to life, I have ideas and dreams that will carry me there.

But now as I write this, I stand poised on my launch pad, waving at Fae over there on hers. We’ve started building our rocket ships, and soon we’ll be aiming for the stars. Just watch us.

-Callie

Launch: Here We Go

2009-09-15T12:40:00.000-07:00

So. I'm finally getting out on my own. A friend of mine and I signed the lease for our new apartment and have been slowly moving all our crap over for the past week or so. During this week my parents have been away, so I've had a little time to reflect and sort of ease myself into the idea of being out in the real world.

I'm not doing a very good job so far. I haven't even started packing yet, and it was my idea to do this whole blog thing, and I've been putting off actually writing it all week. I'm not sure why, either. Maybe because if I start looking through my things and putting down my thoughts on...well not paper, but typing them out, at least, then it will be real. I have a terrible problem with procrastination. I figure if I avoid things then I won't have to deal with them. Which, of course, always backfires terribly because things build up and then I'm scrambling at the last second to get a thousand things done. I really need to pack. And my parents will be home in about fifteen minutes!

But anyway, the point of this blog is to talk about my journey into adulthood or whatever. I'm 23 years old, I graduated from college in May (after four years, an extra semester, and a summer class), and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. During college I looked forward to graduation with a mixture of impatience and sheer terror. I struggled with depression and undiagnosed ADD throughout college and so I didn't do as well as I could have, and looking back now I regret so much of those four years. But somehow I made it through, and here I am, standing on the other end, and quite frankly, I'm lost.

I am the proud owner of a BA in English. The first thing everyone asks me when I tell them that is "Are you going to be a teacher?" I have absolutely no desire to teach, and...very few ideas about what else I want to do. I did an internship at a Literary Agency the summer after my sophomore year of college, so maybe I'll try to get a job at some kind of a publishing company but...I really don't know. And I'm running out of time to decide. At the moment I'm working at a bookstore and for the next week or so I'm doing the paper route in my parents' neighborhood. Which I hate. But I need a real job. One that pays enough to pay rent and has medical benefits and oh my god I'm an adult.

I'm not quite over it yet. But there are things I'm looking forward to. My new roommate and I went shopping for all our kitchen and bathroomy stuff the other day and it was really exciting to buy plates and pots and pans and an amazing red microwave and imagine being out on my own. I'll miss the comforts of living with my parents, but there is something exhilarating about finally being on my own and independent.

So this blog is about my journey from terrified launchee into...hopefully some semblance of a well-adjusted, self-sufficient adult. I have high hopes, even if I have no idea where the path I'm on is leading me. It will definitely be a struggle, but what is anything worth if it comes easily? And as it turns out, my mom, dealing with her empty nest, is as a crossroads in her own life. Both of us are stepping out into the unknown and thank god we have each other to hold onto as we go.So I guess this is where we begin.

-Fae