In my late teens/twenties, I had a goal. Maybe you could call it a motivation. Because my education got all kinds of fucked up, and then senior year I was able to connect a few dots. That’s a longer story.
At that point, I decided that I would do whatever I could to encourage other kids that if I could do it despite the lack of encouragement around me. I did that. My mid 30’s I realized I had accomplished that goal several times over. Then I decided I’d live my life for myself. I had poured out everything nurturing to boost those kids self esteem.
Then I was okay, still struggling with motivation and C-PTSD. As well as depression, GAD, and being undiagnosed Autistic (that will be changing come Wednesday).
I achieved my goal. I didn’t really find a new one. And now, at 50, I’m just floating on the water. I’ve worked toward my MLIS, but I’m stuck having to pay for my last fuckup. Then I have one semester left to finish it. But for now, I’m going to apply to SNHU (rolling admission) for a MFA in writing.
I was on track to get stuff going and then last weekend happened and my survival mode dial got turned all the way to 10. I’m coming back down from that level. I got past the dramatics of the situation and now I can get back down to a more manageable level.
The storm can be calm one minute. The next has gale force winds.
The tree and I share life. I bend the same as it.
A loss of a branch. The loss of parts of my identity.
We bend and twist. Adapting to the world around us.
We each heave a deep sigh as we grow. Not always knowing what is happening.
Taller and stronger. We both become.
Losing and gaining parts of ourselves. The seasons change us.
We bend. We do not break.
2020
(My apologies for being so damn quiet all these months. I got burned out hardcore and just felt as if I’d given so much of myself and needed a break. Not sure how steady I’ll post, but this piece hit me and I needed to share it.)
I’ve blogged recently about my difficulties finding work. I’ve struggled finding my niche in society. And after watching videos and reading books, I do know WHY, at least in part, I’m having so many issues.
I’m a Scanner (Barbara Sher’s term) or what has been coined more recently, a Multipotentialite (see video below). I have a couple of Barbara’s books, and man, they make sense to me. Then I found the video below and it still clicks.
The problem is that society doesn’t see us as valuable in traditional environments. As the video mentions, our society thrives and focuses on people being “specialists.” But us Scanners are anything BUT specialists. We know a bit more than enough to be competent in several things, but never hone in on ONE thing.
I have my BA in English, creative writing as my focus. But I’m not writing all the time. I go through phases where I can work on my fiction for a few months, and then that winds down and I focus on another thing. I’m the type of Scanner Barbara refers to as a Cyclical Scanner.
When it comes to my core passions, I have four. And I shift, mostly circular in nature, between those four things. Writing, Photography, Web Design, and Sewing/Design.
And then there are the “others.” My storage unit is full of supplies for the “others.” Oh, I need to paint some shoes to match this costume… Other. Make a mask? Other. Design a book cover? Other. Make a piece of jewelry for something? Other. And soooo many more. My home, and by extension my storage unit, is a place of variety and creativity. I do many, MANY things, but am no expert in any one of them. Pretty decent at several of them, but no expert. It doesn’t mean I love any of them more or less. My “Big Four” are the ones I’m “pretty fucking good” at.
So, how does this tie in to job hunting?
Our society has become entranced with Specialists. Look at job listings sometime. In accounting, you have listings for Payroll Specialists and so on. In tech, well, don’t get me started. All the various programming languages and certifications and …. yeah. In medicine, engineering, the trades (spot welder versus sheet welding) and most areas of employment, you’ll find a call for specialists.
But for a decent chunk of human history, it was balanced out between generalists and specialists. One person who fits Scanner types well? Leonardo da Vinci. Most know who he was because of his paintings. But he was also an inventor and so much more. What we call now a “Renaissance Man.”
Scanners and Multipotentialites are Renaissance People. We have a lot to offer society, but society doesn’t see what we can do for them. We are pushed to the outer edges of society and, in many cases, not really taken seriously.
I have a slew of skills I can offer an employer, not just creative stuff. But finding a company that potentially SEES those skills as a package deal worth the time is difficult.
Do I have other issues that are making my employability difficult? Yes. And I acknowledge them completely.
I do tell people that the best environment for me to work in is where I have a variety of things I can work on and switch back and forth between. And, because of my back, where I can get up and move around as needed.
Who knows where I’ll end up. I certainly don’t. I want to be able to love my job. Or at least like it enough that I don’t fall asleep halfway through the morning. Granted, that would require me to actually get decent sleep at night. I’m working on it.
This poem is also an older one. Again, not sure how old. I have several cheap comp books that I buy several of at a time. Most get used for poetry and then get lost and, years later, found again.
The Path Taken
The shiny things. Rainbows. We smile and say “I’m fine.” As we tear ourselves Apart. Inside.
The path taken. The cliff we stand on. How close some get. While others take that step. The path of darkness Luring us deeper into The Abyss. The vines grab hold Not wanting us to leave.
Fight to break free The vines constrict us. Pull us deeper. Silence us. We struggle to break free. Some win. Some don’t. Others remain in limbo. Until one side wins.
The cliff beckons. The path calls to us. The sirens sing. Come… live with us. Stay here.
I started this on Facebook, but opted to bring it over here. And yes, still #crowdfunding to get funds to save storage.
This is only slightly tongue-in-cheek. Slightly.
My ideal work environment: not dealing with random humans. The occasional co-worker might be okay. I’m currently feeling a smidge Dragonish (i.e. anti-social), so occasional contact is okay.
And no cubicle farms. No/few phones. Email is preferred. I don’t stumble over my words as much. Also my foot doesn’t end up in my mouth as much.
And not soul-sucking work. I’d like to keep my soul intact for a few more years. At least until I turn 50. Five more years is all I ask.
Let me enter data, do creative-ish things like websites or social media, have a variety of tasks/projects. Research. Gimme things to research. I lurv research. Just not medical, as they want bio degrees. I don’t have one of those. Research and write things.
Pays well enough for me to move into a market rate studio close-in and cram the rest of my stuff into a smaller storage unit again. Also be able to pay for storage, utilities, Netflix and Hulu again, and eat without needing food stamps. Oh, and put money into savings and pay off a few bills.
* * * * * *
Yeah… that shit would take a fucking miracle. I’m screwed.
~Dragon
(Below is what I need to not lose my storage. Before the 15th)
You guys (and gals) never cease to amaze/amuse and befuddle me. My earlier post was really nothing spectacular… just more of a “hey, I am still alive here” post… and yet 11 likes on it… this one won’t be much better.
Pretty sure I’ve rambled about this before, but tonight’s poem made me think of this. A lot of my poetry is train of thought. I rarely edit them. Most of the time, I hand write them. Those may get a word change or two when getting typed up, but still, nothing radical. My poems also fall into a “freestyle” form. And they tend to be either observational (the one from earlier this past week about being at the station and watching people is that type) or internal and sometimes extremely personal. I don’t write those to get attention or anything… they’re random stream-of-consciousness pieces. Nothing grandiose.
I sometimes read them to my therapist, who loves them as both a written art form but as being therapeutic. They can trigger an intense conversation in session. Tonight’s poem, which will post at 11pm PST, is an internal reflection piece… it’s kind of an internal conversation… take from it what you will. I’ve noticed a lot of people pay attention to the poetry posts. So, as long as you read them and like them, I’ll keep writing them. The monthly Patreon poem will be a longer, likely more traditional, work. These are just short little ones.
Well, half an hour before it posts… enjoy.
And thank you for bearing with me with my frantic situation over storage… and ensuing “crash and burn” this weekend. It takes a lot out of me.
Standing still.
Rain hits my face
Runs down my nose.
Cars pass me by
Hitting the
Puddled potholes
On purpose.
The spray
Hits my legs and
Soaked half-dead shoes.
Socks no longer
Protect my bare feet.
The rain is not heavy
But just enough to soak
Every layer
Down to my skin.
Waiting.
Hoping my turn is next.
The break in the rain.
A chance.
Bask in the light.
As the clouds break
Apart.
Just for me.
The Great Penguini Speaketh 