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Birthday [Tarot] Cards

At the beginning of the summer I had a tarot card reading done at my local martini joint. A few weeks ago, I had another reading done at the same place for my birthday. Below is a bit of what we managed to hear in between drag queen shows. Above is a drawing I did today (a la the New Yorker...) You know all those creepy looking cards that tarot card readers have that they say mean good things?!

WORK
Are you quitting your job or thinking or starting something new?
See you juggling things (p.s. I’ve got multiple freelance projects both onsite and off going on right now)
Looks really creative
In some area of your life, you’re done – moving on – something consciously saying goodbye to.
More than ready for a new career.
See you doing stuff on the side.
You are ready to let go.
Good news – positive part
Going back to school? Suggestion that more education and training in the future.
I would go back to school if I were you (oh yeah, you want to pay for it?)
Teaching? Or something like teaching?
Doesn’t look like it’s business school.
Something more related to communications.
Not MBA or financially related.
Don’t stray too far from creative industry.
In an idea phase – don’t need to think practically in idea phases.
Find out what gets you excited – what gets your motor running.
More brainstorming – land on something more creative like writing.
Going for an MBA you would run out of gas. Consider what you really want.
A calling – a career – something you’re inspired by.
Once you land on it, it will get you over the hump.
Related to communications, journalism.
In a way, you’re running out of steam.
Need to be willing to change, to go through a transition.
[The Cards] show a new beginning when you’re ready to step into it.

Hef and Sidd

The other morning I decided that I would go to my new freelance gig. I was seriously considering calling-in in my sickest of sick voices “yeeessssss, I’ve been up aaaallllll niiiiiiiight... baaaaaad sashiiiiimiiiii… oh, oh, you don’t want to know...” I’d been dreading it since I got the call from the recruiter. He was a bit intimidating, vascillating between boardroom Trump and peppy stage mother. I had to reassure him over and over that I was more than capable of doing the job.

Just like every other morning, I went back under the covers after the alarm went off. Laying there half asleep and listening to Karl Kastle recount the horrors of war and introduce a touching story about earwax (I’m not making up the earwax thing. Even the local announcer gave an apology and polite “what the hell?” comment afterwards.) Even though I set my alarm to give me a good hour to get ready, I consistently wake up with only 20 minutes to bathe, try on 5 outfits, dry my hair, and, heyzeus! sometimes I even put on makeup and pack a lunch! Okay, so that 20 minutes usually turns into 40 and me being 15 late.

The job went fine for a few days, but then it got a little hairy. A problem that I thought I had under control kept popping back up to slap me upside the head with a new variation. I did get into a wee bit of a panic right before lunch and after. The kind of blind panic where you keep doing the same thing over and over, thinking that this time, no - this time, maybe if I try it again, holding my breath while standing on my right foot (clearly, the left didn’t do the trick) it’ll work. But then, I would realize halfway through try number 5 that I had already done this 5 times (and probably more) and nada. When I finally broke down and talked to my boss about it, he was unconvinced and said to make it happen.

I was ready to cry, to toss it in and run away to my sofa, blanket and sex and the city tapes, but I didn’t. I did have to tell myself to grow the frig up and, amazingly, it worked. I got it done and everyone seemed happy. Not a homerun, exactly, but a solid single and a stolen base (that would be the band-aid and bullsh*t that worked).

What’s brilliant about freelancing is that, because I don’t expect to be there for the long-term. I come in, do the job as best I can and walk away. Before, I had a hard time seeing work as just work. I took every failure and frustration home with me, out with friends, on vacation, to the poor schmucks at the Starbucks counter… Now I’m only trying to focus on the present. No strings, baby. Who knew I’d be a playboy when it came to work? Or maybe it’s just incredibly zen. Hugh Hefner and Siddhartha. Just a couple of guys with suprisingly similar outlooks on life who (like) liked to hang out in their robes all day.

But, really, this is how you should see work, any work, be it full-time or 5 minutes, right? Show up, do the best you can, dammit, and then leave it all by the receptionist’s massive jar of dum-dums at the end of the day. The end of a career or the demise of my self-worth can't be based on one bad afternoon. (If this were an afterschool special, which it’s unfortunately starting to sound like, this would be where all my friends come to sit by me in the lunchroom and nod, someone tells a lame joke and the director cues the mildly edgy, yet oddly inspirational Kelly Clarkson music)

But… (Kelly Clarkson music cuts out abruptly)
If this is the way to go, not taking your work so much to heart, how much heart can there be in your work? Perhaps I’ve been wooking per nub in all the wrong paces?

Tune in next time...

…and now for something completely different…

The other day I overheard a guy talking about voiceovers. Apparently, one of his friends had started doing voiceovers in his retirement. He said he just took a class and is getting work here and there.

Hmmmmm…

I’ve actually thought about doing this. One option out of the 882 I’ve contemplated over the last few months. Oy freaking vay… not only am I in job limbo, I’m developing multiple personalities…

I feel like I just need something completely different. Even if I go back to where I started, at least I can say that I had a good wander off the beaten path.

I figure I may as well dive into classes and opportunities - pretend I’m in college again. As if I’m new to the world with no prior responsibilities or experience, starting with a blank sheet of paper.

Resume rasa.

It’s funny, but I’ve always said that I wish that someone would just tell me I should do this or be that. Anyone? But really, I’ve been given oodles of advice over the years and have never taken it seriously. One piece of advice:

“Take more pictures”
This would be the advice I was given when I showed my aunt, a professional artist, the work I did in my photography class in college. It’s the only photography class I’ve taken and I had a great time. I was no Avedon or Lebowitz the first or 50th time out for that matter, but it did get me out. I’m a pretty shy person and I’m not one to make friends with strangers. But with the camera, I became much more outgoing, not to mention shameless. I would regularly stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk and position myself, squatting, nearly doing the splits just to get the right angle while shoppers and angry businessmen hurtled over me. One day, I took a bunch of photos of a pair of worn-out shoes that, despite that they were about to fall apart, had been neatly placed side by side next to a doorway. When I came around the corner hours later, after dark, I found a man wearing the shoes. He was in a fuzzy, tweed jacket, sitting on the step and praying with his palms pressed together and his eyes closed. I took loads of pictures of him and he didn’t budge (god bless him – although I’m sure that he wasn’t exactly praying for a photo op). One of my fellow students remarked that he had also seen those shoes and the guy. Some of the photos are above.

More advice to come...

line up the drinks and bring out the cards

well, if i didn't already know it was time to focus on joblove, the universe certainly told me so last night. or at least, a representitive of the universe. 1/2 price martinis were what initially drew us to our locale (i had a mango martini topped with a mutant mint leaf the size of my palm). nicely priced tarot card readings made the night. we managed to have the woman who was giving the readings to come sit with us. one by one we had our cards read. we even took notes. here are the notes from my reading (thank you to my friend for playing psychic court reporter.)

incidently, i asked for a reading about my personal life, my love life, and what i got was 97% about work. okay... i get it...

i heart _______

i’m in job limbo. some may call that UNemployed, but that’s not the case here. I’m fortunate to be in a field where I can work as an independent contractor and make just as much money as I would in full-time - as long as i’m working. So, no, no full-time job security, althought i’ve learned that even the fullest of full-time jobs is not secure.

i’m not unemployed, but i’m still in an unpredicatble state that feels like office summer camp where every week we hike to a new location, get new bunkmates, new places to pee and things to eat. every week there’s tests of strength and endurance and tolerance. some guides hand you a map while others give a bag of goodies only Macgyver would know what to do with and release you into the wild.

oddly, i’m enjoying it. i’ve been in my field for nearly 9 years now and i’ve been thinking of trying something else for, well, 9 years now. each job i’ve taken has been with the caveat that this will merely pay the bills and let me concentrate on what I really love to do. During these 9 years, however, i have only made meek attempts at finding my true job love. a drawing class here, voice lessons there, printing out page after page of local writing groups.

there have been moments i did manage to dive into a project - i once had the urge to do a mural and, on a whim, called a friend with a blank 13 x 15 foot wall in her music school. amazingly, she agreed without hesitation - her decision made easy due to the fact that i did not ask to be paid. yes, i am that crazy. it took much longer and cost much more than i anticipated, but it turned out pretty well. i still look at the photograph of the wall and have a hard time believing that i really did that. who the hell was that person? and how do i get more of her?

i have a split personality when it comes to my abilities: in one room of my head, i truly believe that i’m a rare talent, that i have the ability to create, to write, to draw, to paint (another class necessary for that) beyond well-enough to make a very nice living and a fabulous little life for myself. in that room i’m successful, and famous, driven and happy. then, behind door number 2 is the status quo girl who is better suited to the sure thing, the nice job, nice apartment, nice life, with what’s “normal” and easy. even after loads of feminism being rammed down my neck in college and high school, all i could dream about was finding a nice husband. i would have elaborate fantasies of meeting and marrying and being the envy of all my friends.

midway through nearly evey one of theses sappy storylines, however, i would unconciously veer off the romantic path and into a fabulous new job. sometimes i would forget the man entirely and leave him in mid-sentence at our quirky, romantic location to be discovered by Barnboim, get a cover comission for the new yorker or to pick up the latest Marie Claire with my article printed in it.

i love Marie Claire. So sue me.

it's taken me a while to notice this. i would actually get annoyed at myself, lying there in the bed in the dark. in my mind i’d be on a plane to the congo to photograph endangered pigmy tribes and, oh gee, i'd completely forgotten about the poor shmuck or the setting or the kiss that had started the whole thing.

but now, i can see that i was merely acting out in my head what i need to be concentrating more on in my life. i’ve been miserable for the majority of my professional life. i’ve fared a little better in terms of friends. i've got wonderful friends who love to go out, are smart, hilarious and unbelievably supportive. (okay, sorry to trip your gag reflex.) the boys, well, not so much luck in the dating dept. but that’s not what the story’s about today. or, at least, that’s not how it’s starting out.

so, friday night, my friend B and i came to a (mildly) drunken consensus that those people, those artists and authors with book deals and 1,000 square foot studios in the hamptons, were just that: people. just people like us. hard work, luck and tenacity are things that we all have access to - why NOT us too? why not? maybe i have to shut the nice girl away for a while and give the jet-set superstar the floor. Believe that anything really IS possible, as the self-help aisle and oprah preach to us in firm voices everyday. I know it’s cheesey as hell, but it really is. i’ve decided that the man is not to be found just now. i’m not ready for him to be. the nice girl is not the girl i want in a realtionship. she’s a doormat and a coward. she’s really not that interesting to talk to and she doesn’t think that there’s really anything that interesting about her.

i want to love my job. i want joblove.

i don't know where this will lead, or what i can expect from these postings. i'm just throwing my incessant babble out there...

oh, and the pear sketch above? nada to do with this post. i just drew it and liked it enough to offer it up here.