The Railroad Tracks on the Horizon

DAY SEVENTY-EIGHT: The Pauper Gains Perspective

I'm about to blow your mind grapes: We all see things differently.  Not simply because our life experiences dictate how we perceive any new hurdle presented to us, but because of perspective.  Perspective is the reason this street art:

Is not nearly as impressive as this:

It's the reason members of the Academy in 1942 believed How Green Was My Valley to be superior to a movie that is now widely considered the greatest American film ever made.

Sorry guys, though it fits most of the above description, this movie unfortunately didn't come out until 2011.

And it's the reason someone like Chris Brown can't understand why the world would be a better place if he simply moved to Northern Canada and let the polar bears deal with him.

But even the polar bears beg for sweet, sweet respite.

We see things how we see them because few of us have the range of [e]motions to comprehend a life outside of where we stand.  To do that takes experience.  So for the unexperienced, we often need to take alternative measures to see the truth in a situation.

I had a conversation with a friend the other day.  I wasn't feeling particularly optimistic about my circumstance.  I had made the difficult choice to spend my first Christmas alone in the name of waiting tables.  I've made very little progress in the search for a better "grown up" job outside of submitting resumes until my fingers bled.  And a lack of creative confidence still plagues my thoughts as I stare into the abyss known as "social media helps me see why everyone is so much better off than I am."  So my friend did the best thing he could have done for me, he told me I was being "daft".

He proceeded to point out the fact that I made a decision knowing it would take some time.  He pointed out that it had been roughly 6 weeks since I left my job.  That I have multiple creative opportunities on the horizon.  That this job is only as temporary as I want it to be.  That in order to be what I truly want to be, I am exactly where I need to be.  He gave me perspective.

Some times it's easier to get a hold of perspective.  In the case of the street art, you could just stumble upon the correct spot to view it's ingenuity.  

Other times, there's no way to gain perspective outside of time doing all of the work; as is the case of a film like Citizen Kane losing the title of "Best Picture" in 1942, while being lauded as the great American masterpiece nearly every subsequent year.

But when you don't have the time or the internal ability to avoid a state of mental collapse, the brutal honesty and insight of others can help you see what you can't.  It's a gift for which I am incredibly thankful.  And though my perspective will waiver as my days ebb and flow, I can fall back on the knowledge that where I am now is not absolutely where I will always be.  A simple truth that isn't necessarily so simple when you are too close to the edge of despair to see properly.

Now who is ready to Clockwork Orange the vitriolic piss out of Chris Brown with me?

Surrogate City

DAY THIRTY-FOUR: The Pauper Says Goodbye

Family is a fluid term.  Yes, the images conjured that immediately leap to mind with the word are often the mother, father, offspring and perhaps a cute little furry creature in the corner.  We all have this family.  It's a blood relation formed the moment of conception.  But through our lives, we formulate new families as we branch on our own.

Sometimes, when your immediate family, say, moves to another country, or you move to another city; its the blood bonds that keep you together.  But their absence means that you need to supplement your familial belonging with something new.  For twenty-somethings branching into their own lives, this often means a circle of friends.  Classmates (at a school of improv), or your job.

Today I said goodbye to one of my families.

For most people, work is what we do day-to-day to receive a paycheck to support ourselves.  We do the daily grind of nine to five not necessarily out of passion for the job at hand, but because the compensation is what we need to do the things that supplement our lives.  But when you are at this supplementary life situation, you don't realize that the day-to-day drudgery actually fills most of your life.  It's simply what you do.  It's not until you leave your post that you realize you've actually formed a family with your co-workers.  You see these people more often than your biological family, your friends, or your sweet as hell kitty that nestles on your chest the moment you lay down for a binge session of "Breaking Bad" on Netflix.

But your work family is your family.  It's the people you see for an average of 40 hours a week.  Compare that to anyone else in your life.  Even a roommate can come up short.

Today I said goodbye to my work family of over two years of my life.  I've done this multiple times.  But today was different.  Today was a family I deserted for selfish reasons.  A family who loved me enough to throw me a surprise party in the conference room and share their feelings on why they would miss me, but how excited they were to see me pursuing my dreams.  These are people I have clocked in just under 5,000 hours of my life with.

The thing about work families is that most of us spend our time with them doing something we find necessary to live our "outside lives."  But we spend so much time with them during this time that we often forget to seek them out during our "off" work periods.  That doesn't diminish the relationship, but rather takes it for granted.  Like a couple hitting their seven year itch, our work families are always simply there.  So even when you've prepared for months to say goodbye, you never really realize it until the week beyond "vacation time" has passed.

Where does this leave you?

As someone who has spent most of her life moving around and adopting new families, you would think this comes easy.  A natural acceptance of life much like gaining weight and getting UTIs.  But it doesn't get easier.  It simply gets different.

It's hard right now.  And it will be hard to ensure this family lasts in my life.  But what I know right now is this: I rode my bike home from Second City tonight and saw a Skid Steer (a construction vehicle that caused the accident of a major case of ours.)  And I cried.  Why did an industrial piece of machinery force emotions out of me reminiscent of Shirley MacLaine in "Terms of Endearment"?  Because I knew I would never have to care about that piece of machinery again.

And the emotions I felt at that moment proved in me that the difficulty in saying goodbye to one family I've cherished will pale in comparison to the happiness I will feel in my new adventure.

But from the cheap seats, I say, "Goodbye my loves.  I hope we can do lunch.  And maybe we can grab a beer."