This has been a particularly rough month for me. I have had a lot going on in my life, at home, at work, sometimes they seem to be in unison because, I guess, because I am human, and it is sometimes hard for me to separate the two. When I walk out of work, I try to leave my work-related stress in that little squishy red ball sitting on my desk, and I don't want to talk about work at all during my time off.
But there are times in your life that your home life will spill into your work life and vice versa. It's unavoidable. If something in your personal life is eating away at your very soul, you can count on being preoccupied at work. No amount of coffee, sleep or working out can counteract ongoing stress. It's not called the silent killer for nothing. But I realized that the times that I feel most stressed out are the times that I feel the need to be in control. And the clincher here is this. It's when I relinquish my control to God, and trust in Him, when I feel most relieved.
People are always saying, "Don't take it personally. It's business." While, true, it might be business related, we are not robots. I don't care how many ways you try to convince yourself that you are someone different while at work. You simply are not. You are who you are when it's 8-5 and when it's 5-8. And just because I was born with a vagina and not a penis (if I had one, it would be bigger than average, I hope), I do not think with my heart in all instances. But if you do something that tells me one thing while your lips tell me something totally different, I am going to notice. I was not born last night. You know how I know? I just learned back in August 2011 what time I was born- thanks to Debi. I don't remember right now though. I'm guessing it was morning though- somewhere around the witching hour, since I am admittedly feisty and witchlike (on Mondays and Wednesdays only).
Recently, I had an organizational switch in my role at work, which I had absolutely no control of. No planned out line of questioning or prodding for truths would prove anything nor confirm or deny anything that I didn't already know the answer to, but for some reason I needed affirmation that I was still worth it. Worth what? Worthy of being wanted I guess, of being needed, of being employed. I needed to know that my efforts to please my bosses were noticed, that my role was not in vain, that my place in the company was not faltering. So I asked. I cried when I did, which is most unprofessional. But you know what? I am human. I am real. When I want to know something, I'm gonna ask it. And when I don't feel appreciated, I will move on. Maybe that's a vain approach to life. Maybe I put too much emphasis on something as fleeting as feelings. Maybe most people don't place enough value on others' feelings, and that's what really bothers me about the business world. People want robots these days. It's clear when you look at formerly booming industries such as manufacturing and agriculture. When they say they want computerized, standardized methods they mean it in more than one way.
I enjoy cutting up at work. Practical jokes and boisterous laughter are often emitting like UV rays from my cube.What's the point in being so serious all the time? Who says work should be dull? Being humorous at work is very unfortunately frowned on in a lot of companies though. I think that's bullshit. I can remember working for my Dad, and reading to him a cover letter than I once wrote, and his reaction that irked me, prompting me to never ask his opinion again on that topic. He said it wasn't professional, not serious enough. Since when did the world get so uptight. It wasn't just my Dad. It's corporate America.
Sure, the letter was a bit daring, could have been a bit forthright, maybe flirting with conceit, maybe quirky, and probably somewhat humorous. It was too honest, too obvious. But here's the deal. It was me. Do we really want to start something out on a lie? Why in interviews do we have to make shit up? We have Q and A books that we pour over while we are prepping for interviews. Should I make something up that blatantly is not what I am- a perfectionist, consummately on-task, on-time, on point? On a role is more like it. Lies, all lies. Now, I'm a multi-tasker who often takes on too much responsibility? That's complete bullshit. If I was like that I would be the CEO. I wouldn't be sitting here answering your lame questions about my so-called work habits that may or may not be true depending on how gullible you are.
Good habits are a result of happiness- in your personal life and in cube living. It's evident. Wouldn't you rather know if I'm a good person or not? Would I lie about task completion? Would I cover up a mistake? Would I narc out a co-worker who was doing something he's not supposed to be doing? The answer to that is easy- no. Honestly, I don't think that employers want to hire someone who would say yes to that question. Employers don't want to see your true colors obviously because they ask such unimportant, irrelevant questions quite frequently in interviews.
If I answer your questions the way some 1976 Harvard PhD grad who is now working as a business consultant for companies like Google and AT&T tells me to answer them, I am not only lying to you, but I am also unoriginal. I am not what you are probably looking for. I have my own mind, and I am actually intelligent despite the fact that I don't have a degree from an accredited university. I make up my own decisions on the fly because I like to think. It pleases me to please you Mr. Bossman Interviewer. I don't usually follow suite, which might make you uncomfortable because, well I guess, because, I might take your job one day. No, I don't fit your mold. I like to make my own mold. I think they call that thinking outside of the box. But really, it's thinking inside the box. When you are thinking inside the box you are using your own uniqueness, your own creativity, and utilizing your gifts. You are being yourself- what you were put here for.
What got me riled up tonight is the thought of interviewing. It's the thought that I have to pretend that I am not who I really am to get a job. I can't stand to be a fake. It drives me batty. Please don't ask me to lie; it will eat me up. I'm not saying I don't ever lie. I'm human. I lie. In fact, I lied to a friend about something totally ridiculous recently, that ended a twenty year friendship. It was coming anyway. We had grown apart. It was actually very innocent, and I lied because I took someone else's bad advice. But that's beside the point.
The point here is this: Be yourself. But care for others as you are doing it. The letter that I wrote below is an honest depiction of how I feel about Colette on occasion, when I am thinking only about myself. Nevertheless, it is not something that I would ever convey in that manner to her because I am not that mean. But if people were as clear as day as we sometimes feel, we would all hate each other.
Jesus said in John 10: 18, "I have power to die, and I have power to live again." Sometimes we must mask, sometimes smother our true feelings so that we can get past pain. We do it because we know it's right. We lie sometimes to prevent heartbreak.
I feel like I need to be honest right now. And because honesty takes a toll sometimes, I wanted to give you fair warning that what you are about to read below is gritty, and not withholding. One would never know happiness if before, he didn't experience sadness. Most people never let this kind of truth out, but I don't mind, because I know that everyone hurts sometimes, and everyone hides it. You might hide in a bathroom at work when you cry. You might scream in your car when you are angry. You might punch a hole in your bedroom wall (an expensive method of expression I wouldn't recommend for some obvious reasons). However you express yourself behind closed doors is your choice. I choose to write. You choose to read it.
Dear Colette,
I am your birth daughter. You gave me away to total strangers when I was born. You kept me a secret as if I was never born. You stripped me of knowing where I came from all of my life. And I don't know if you have any remorse for it, because you have never tried to contact me to even let me know.
They say that I should be writing you nice words. I don't really give a shit right now what they say. They aren't me. They didn't grow up feeling like a missing link. They didn't have a million questions rolling around in their coconut that most normal people have definite answers to immediately when they are asked. They also didn't selfishly give away a baby like you did.
One might say it is a selfless thing to do. I might agree one day. One day I might vehemently disagree. At any rate, I'm not gonna sugar coat this. I'm pissed at you right now. I have made a few connections with you, and you again, have made no attempt at knowing me. Denied once again. How many times will you do this to me? Does it bother you that I'm hurt by your lack of care for me? Are you so far stuck up your own ass that you can't even look at me? Are you human? Do people love you? I wonder what it's like for you to live your life knowing that you had a perfectly good child and you gave her away. Because, why again?
I don't know you and frankly, right now, I could care less about you. I think very low of you right now, almost to the point that you did, when you signed the papers, when you didn't visit me in the hospital, when you didn't tell my birth father about me. You're dead to me. Just like I was to you 35 years ago, only I was an innocent baby, a sweet, healthy, pretty baby. You are old, probably haggard, and most likely unhappy. I don't want to write you any more sweet letters. This is it. I'm done writing your pathetic, weak ass. I don't care anymore. I don't know if I ever truly did.
This note will probably mean nothing to you. Just like I meant nothing to you when you gave me away. You bitch. You don't deserve to have children.
Why am I so pissed? I don't know. But I'm blaming it all on you right now. I've planted the seed that I wanted to meet you. You must be aware. You have to be aware. You should be ashamed of yourself. I hope you are. I hope you get some help because what you did to me is despicable. Anyone who has unprotected sex and gets pregnant should take responsibility for their own actions. Abortion is wrong. And giving your child away is a cop out. Grow a sack. Explain to me why you did that to me. Why you separated me from others who are like me, why you left me. I deserve to know. You owe me at least that much since you took everything else away from me that should have been my fucking birthright. I can't even imagine what it would be like to live your life knowing that you gave your own child away. I don't care how many "circumstances" surrounded you, I am a fucking person- a living, breathing, capable, wonderful person. I deserve to know why you did what you did.
I know who my Father is. So that makes it easier for me to forgive you, BUT, I still don't like you. This will be no different for you seeing as how you never knew me from the beginning, and you don't have to try now to make up for all those years. You can just curl this piece of paper up in your little fist and throw it away, just like you did to me when I was born that day- just toss this out like an old magazine. Have a nice life you cold hearted bitch.
No one, who's a someone
But there are times in your life that your home life will spill into your work life and vice versa. It's unavoidable. If something in your personal life is eating away at your very soul, you can count on being preoccupied at work. No amount of coffee, sleep or working out can counteract ongoing stress. It's not called the silent killer for nothing. But I realized that the times that I feel most stressed out are the times that I feel the need to be in control. And the clincher here is this. It's when I relinquish my control to God, and trust in Him, when I feel most relieved.
People are always saying, "Don't take it personally. It's business." While, true, it might be business related, we are not robots. I don't care how many ways you try to convince yourself that you are someone different while at work. You simply are not. You are who you are when it's 8-5 and when it's 5-8. And just because I was born with a vagina and not a penis (if I had one, it would be bigger than average, I hope), I do not think with my heart in all instances. But if you do something that tells me one thing while your lips tell me something totally different, I am going to notice. I was not born last night. You know how I know? I just learned back in August 2011 what time I was born- thanks to Debi. I don't remember right now though. I'm guessing it was morning though- somewhere around the witching hour, since I am admittedly feisty and witchlike (on Mondays and Wednesdays only).
Recently, I had an organizational switch in my role at work, which I had absolutely no control of. No planned out line of questioning or prodding for truths would prove anything nor confirm or deny anything that I didn't already know the answer to, but for some reason I needed affirmation that I was still worth it. Worth what? Worthy of being wanted I guess, of being needed, of being employed. I needed to know that my efforts to please my bosses were noticed, that my role was not in vain, that my place in the company was not faltering. So I asked. I cried when I did, which is most unprofessional. But you know what? I am human. I am real. When I want to know something, I'm gonna ask it. And when I don't feel appreciated, I will move on. Maybe that's a vain approach to life. Maybe I put too much emphasis on something as fleeting as feelings. Maybe most people don't place enough value on others' feelings, and that's what really bothers me about the business world. People want robots these days. It's clear when you look at formerly booming industries such as manufacturing and agriculture. When they say they want computerized, standardized methods they mean it in more than one way.
I enjoy cutting up at work. Practical jokes and boisterous laughter are often emitting like UV rays from my cube.What's the point in being so serious all the time? Who says work should be dull? Being humorous at work is very unfortunately frowned on in a lot of companies though. I think that's bullshit. I can remember working for my Dad, and reading to him a cover letter than I once wrote, and his reaction that irked me, prompting me to never ask his opinion again on that topic. He said it wasn't professional, not serious enough. Since when did the world get so uptight. It wasn't just my Dad. It's corporate America.
Sure, the letter was a bit daring, could have been a bit forthright, maybe flirting with conceit, maybe quirky, and probably somewhat humorous. It was too honest, too obvious. But here's the deal. It was me. Do we really want to start something out on a lie? Why in interviews do we have to make shit up? We have Q and A books that we pour over while we are prepping for interviews. Should I make something up that blatantly is not what I am- a perfectionist, consummately on-task, on-time, on point? On a role is more like it. Lies, all lies. Now, I'm a multi-tasker who often takes on too much responsibility? That's complete bullshit. If I was like that I would be the CEO. I wouldn't be sitting here answering your lame questions about my so-called work habits that may or may not be true depending on how gullible you are.
Good habits are a result of happiness- in your personal life and in cube living. It's evident. Wouldn't you rather know if I'm a good person or not? Would I lie about task completion? Would I cover up a mistake? Would I narc out a co-worker who was doing something he's not supposed to be doing? The answer to that is easy- no. Honestly, I don't think that employers want to hire someone who would say yes to that question. Employers don't want to see your true colors obviously because they ask such unimportant, irrelevant questions quite frequently in interviews.
If I answer your questions the way some 1976 Harvard PhD grad who is now working as a business consultant for companies like Google and AT&T tells me to answer them, I am not only lying to you, but I am also unoriginal. I am not what you are probably looking for. I have my own mind, and I am actually intelligent despite the fact that I don't have a degree from an accredited university. I make up my own decisions on the fly because I like to think. It pleases me to please you Mr. Bossman Interviewer. I don't usually follow suite, which might make you uncomfortable because, well I guess, because, I might take your job one day. No, I don't fit your mold. I like to make my own mold. I think they call that thinking outside of the box. But really, it's thinking inside the box. When you are thinking inside the box you are using your own uniqueness, your own creativity, and utilizing your gifts. You are being yourself- what you were put here for.
What got me riled up tonight is the thought of interviewing. It's the thought that I have to pretend that I am not who I really am to get a job. I can't stand to be a fake. It drives me batty. Please don't ask me to lie; it will eat me up. I'm not saying I don't ever lie. I'm human. I lie. In fact, I lied to a friend about something totally ridiculous recently, that ended a twenty year friendship. It was coming anyway. We had grown apart. It was actually very innocent, and I lied because I took someone else's bad advice. But that's beside the point.
The point here is this: Be yourself. But care for others as you are doing it. The letter that I wrote below is an honest depiction of how I feel about Colette on occasion, when I am thinking only about myself. Nevertheless, it is not something that I would ever convey in that manner to her because I am not that mean. But if people were as clear as day as we sometimes feel, we would all hate each other.
Jesus said in John 10: 18, "I have power to die, and I have power to live again." Sometimes we must mask, sometimes smother our true feelings so that we can get past pain. We do it because we know it's right. We lie sometimes to prevent heartbreak.
I feel like I need to be honest right now. And because honesty takes a toll sometimes, I wanted to give you fair warning that what you are about to read below is gritty, and not withholding. One would never know happiness if before, he didn't experience sadness. Most people never let this kind of truth out, but I don't mind, because I know that everyone hurts sometimes, and everyone hides it. You might hide in a bathroom at work when you cry. You might scream in your car when you are angry. You might punch a hole in your bedroom wall (an expensive method of expression I wouldn't recommend for some obvious reasons). However you express yourself behind closed doors is your choice. I choose to write. You choose to read it.
Dear Colette,
I am your birth daughter. You gave me away to total strangers when I was born. You kept me a secret as if I was never born. You stripped me of knowing where I came from all of my life. And I don't know if you have any remorse for it, because you have never tried to contact me to even let me know.
They say that I should be writing you nice words. I don't really give a shit right now what they say. They aren't me. They didn't grow up feeling like a missing link. They didn't have a million questions rolling around in their coconut that most normal people have definite answers to immediately when they are asked. They also didn't selfishly give away a baby like you did.
One might say it is a selfless thing to do. I might agree one day. One day I might vehemently disagree. At any rate, I'm not gonna sugar coat this. I'm pissed at you right now. I have made a few connections with you, and you again, have made no attempt at knowing me. Denied once again. How many times will you do this to me? Does it bother you that I'm hurt by your lack of care for me? Are you so far stuck up your own ass that you can't even look at me? Are you human? Do people love you? I wonder what it's like for you to live your life knowing that you had a perfectly good child and you gave her away. Because, why again?
I don't know you and frankly, right now, I could care less about you. I think very low of you right now, almost to the point that you did, when you signed the papers, when you didn't visit me in the hospital, when you didn't tell my birth father about me. You're dead to me. Just like I was to you 35 years ago, only I was an innocent baby, a sweet, healthy, pretty baby. You are old, probably haggard, and most likely unhappy. I don't want to write you any more sweet letters. This is it. I'm done writing your pathetic, weak ass. I don't care anymore. I don't know if I ever truly did.
This note will probably mean nothing to you. Just like I meant nothing to you when you gave me away. You bitch. You don't deserve to have children.
Why am I so pissed? I don't know. But I'm blaming it all on you right now. I've planted the seed that I wanted to meet you. You must be aware. You have to be aware. You should be ashamed of yourself. I hope you are. I hope you get some help because what you did to me is despicable. Anyone who has unprotected sex and gets pregnant should take responsibility for their own actions. Abortion is wrong. And giving your child away is a cop out. Grow a sack. Explain to me why you did that to me. Why you separated me from others who are like me, why you left me. I deserve to know. You owe me at least that much since you took everything else away from me that should have been my fucking birthright. I can't even imagine what it would be like to live your life knowing that you gave your own child away. I don't care how many "circumstances" surrounded you, I am a fucking person- a living, breathing, capable, wonderful person. I deserve to know why you did what you did.
I know who my Father is. So that makes it easier for me to forgive you, BUT, I still don't like you. This will be no different for you seeing as how you never knew me from the beginning, and you don't have to try now to make up for all those years. You can just curl this piece of paper up in your little fist and throw it away, just like you did to me when I was born that day- just toss this out like an old magazine. Have a nice life you cold hearted bitch.
No one, who's a someone
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