Fired, Failing and Fresh Starts?

As I sit here trembling, slightly nauseous from my first ever firing in over 30 years of employment , I can’t help but feel guilty about the trail of events that got me in this place, and knowing that it all really went wrong decades ago. My guilt? Not following my dreams.

In my always strong-mind and eagerness to leave home, I graduated early at 17 and headed off to college. I was originally a drama major on a whim, courtesy of a one-year Officers’ Wives Scholarship, due to my military brat and high school drama club history.  When the scholarship ran out and I refused to give up my new found freedom, I spontaneously fled to the only interest I’ve maintained throughout my life – writing. I became a Journalism major, got a 3-year Army ROTC scholarship and graduated with an emphasis in Public Relations, knowing that I would be commissioned as an Army Aviator and subsequently never really use my journalism skills again, although it has and always will be my first love.

Fast forward twenty years and I’ve had a long career in the military with Army Aviation and now Air Force Reserves, neither of which I ever planned to be in my wildest dreams. I’ve done all kinds of wild and respectable things in my career (and some not so respectable), but none of which ever really felt like ME. While I have the highest respect for our military members and the armed services as a whole, I feel I’ve always been a fish out of water and have known that I’ve never really followed my passion in life. For that, I carry tremendous guilt. Instead, I followed the money.

However, you cannot do truly well in that which you truly do not love. What I love most is being a mother and advancing the motivation and direction of others who aren’t blessed with my same strength and perseverance. To be completely honest, I have been unhappy in my career path for quite some time, yet have felt powerless to change its course, or perhaps too naïve to know how to apply my strengths elsewhere. With a husband, four kids, a mortgage, an RV and a long list of obligations to my name, it has always felt safer to absorb the misery and provide the income necessary to maintain the life I’m accustomed to enjoy.  For this, I feel tremendously guilty and as if I have failed my family. How do you change direction so far down life’s road?

In reality, I am completely passionate about helping others, writing, communications and the public relations field.  Alas, having a 20+ year old degree and no real job experience in that area does not put you at the top of the hiring field. I am simply the 20+ year military veteran with a security clearance that is either over qualified for another job, or too inexperienced for the areas in which I would passionately love to work.

Still, I do believe that passion is what should and does drive all that is good in this world. I lost a very good friend to suicide in 2010 that I never could convince of his worth, despite what the world dictated he should be. He never seemed to grasp the tremendous worth in pursuing your dreams, no matter where they might lead. The world always seems to have a way of ripping away desires and replacing them with artificial ideas of what you SHOULD be. I always admired him for not caving to the pressure of what you should be and being simply what he was – which was beautiful.  In the end, the pressure won over his worldly battle and it breaks my heart to this day. But even now, I carry the guilt of still being here and carrying on the façade, though I know I’ve never had the courage to pursue my dreams in the way that he did.

I am truly sad today, but not in the loss of my job.  I am sad over the loss of confidence in myself, the obligation to my family, and that fact that I never had the courage to go where I was intended to be many years ago. Maybe this is my chance? I will bounce back, but not before I have soundly learned a valuable lesson for my kids. For the love of God and self, ALWAYS follow your dreams. Do not settle for what anyone else thinks you should be, rather boldly and proudly represent all that you are inside.  ALWAYS.

 

Combat Yoga, anyone?

Recently, I decided to try something new every month that moves me at least in the general direction of life improvement.  For March, this meant revisiting an old foe -- yoga. While I am well aware of the benefits of yoga, I've still always viewed it as an annoying, Ned Flanders kind of habit that rubs me like sandpaper across my temple. I know it may sound strange to say, but the peaceful, kind, nature of the practice drives me nuts.  I've spent most of my entire life in an Army environment that practices war and not only praises aggression, but rewards it mercilessness. My father, a career Army officer, never tolerated idleness and if you were trying to sit still and relax, then you were obviously neglecting some other chore that needing completing right-this-very-minute. You certainly didn't want to be accused of being lazy, above all things. While I am all grown up now and understand the absurdity of that mindset, I still have never successfully rid myself of the instinct to MOVE. NOW. And for cryin' out loud, don't expect someone to ask you nicely. I am sadly far more comfortable with someone screaming at me than I am with a soft, gentle voice explaining to me the benefits of measured, deep breathing over the soothing sounds of a dulcimer.  Thus, my journey with yoga continues.

This time, I chose an instructor that I truly admire and have known in the gym for years. She was gracious enough to invite me to her class and leave guest passes at the desk for not only me, but my yes-I'm-dragging-you-along-with-me husband. I actually showed up with my own yoga mat that has been in my garage for the last four years collecting dust.  I had to wash off the dirt, spider webs and dead bugs before it was class ready, but I felt that at least I'd LOOK like I knew how to do yoga up until the class actually starts.

Mind you, I have no fear of looking like an idiot in a class, so the self-conscious bit really wasn't an issue for me. I just wanted to find a spot in the back, observe the room, do my best to imitate the moves, and have some fun along the way. Of course, as soon as the doors opened, all the yogi-ites immediately strolled in and flopped their mats across the entire back row. We then tried the middle row, but it also filled up quick and to our dismay, we found ourselves in the front. Andrea, our instructor, was nice enough to loan Andy a mat (since I didn't have another bug-encrusted one to share), and it was shoes off, lights out, we begin!

Andrea turned on the yoga fire hose as she began quickly calling out and moving through the postures and poses one by one. I tried to keep up with the directions, but my brain moves entirely too slow, so I found myself looking around the dark room and just trying to copy what everyone else was doing.  Andy appeared to be as lost as I was, so I didn't feel quite so dumb.  There were lots of strange descriptions -- dogs, lizards, happy babies, warriors, triangles, pyramids, airplanes and few others that I can't remember.  My favorite was something about a "powerful chair" pose that really resembled something Andy does behind photographers when he wants the kids to laugh for a family photo.  We call it the "how you poop in the woods pose", so you can imagine my reaction when this turned out to be a legitimate yoga tool.  It ended up causing at least two brief giggling fits that I tried to suppress so as not to distract those around me quite so much.

The music turned out to be much better than I expected, especially since Andrea followed through with an earlier request of mine to have some Eminem during class.  That was my favorite few minutes as I was able to quietly rap along with the obscenities and forget that I have no idea how to attempt a Dying Dog Warrior Triangle pose. Andy enjoyed some Matthew Sweet music that also made the playlist, but while having to sit quietly AGAIN at the end of class, I still think I heard a dulcimer over some kind of strange singing/yodeling. I guess you gotta throw in at least one?

I also learned during class that I am horrid at trying to stand on one leg. I've always had the balance of a drunk, three-legged cat, which adds a special degree of difficulty when it comes to yoga.  Even as a young girl, I was one of the only kids in gymnastics that was eventually allowed to skip the balance beam lesson each week.  I required so much assistance for even the smallest task (and probably whined so extensively) that I believe they just gave up on me and decided to call a truce.

Balance aside, I managed to make it through class without major injury, skipping a couple of poses that hurt my back and replacing them with extra push-ups (or chaturangas, I believe they are called in yogi speak).  This is my favorite part of yoga.  Finally, an exercise I recognize and am actually GOOD at doing!

I feel that one of the worst tasks is having to close your eyes for extended periods of time. For me, this is nearly impossible. Rewind to childhood -- closing your eyes very much resembles a nap.  No can do. Got things to do and see. Did I just hear the door open? Who's that coming to class late? What are these numbers on the floor? Looks like they're peeling.  Someone should fix that. Where's the clock? Oh look, the digital clock got replaced! Where's the instructor? Is Andy closing his eyes too? I think I need a pedicure. Yep, looks like I do. Where should I go for lunch? In my mind, it goes on and on and on.....who's need relaxing?

The answer, I realize, is clearly ME. I will continue to try yoga where I can throughout the month of March, and I will do my best to keep my mind open because somewhere inside, I think I like the IDEA of doing yoga, but it hasn't quite caught on with my body or brain. If they invent some kind of combat yoga class where you get to complete obstacles around the room while wearing a chicken plate, shoot Airsoft at other participants and do more push-ups, I'm all  in.  And absolutely NO dulcimers. See you there?

The Beginning

As much as I love to write, I figured I'd start my own blog so I have a better venue to air my thoughts than the short status updates on Facebook. However, I am a bit hesitant, as many of my thoughts seem to cause great angst and displeasure amongst my family and friends, but nonetheless, I start my blog.

First step is selecting a name for the blog. I decided I'd adopt a unique past nickname, although I had to clean it up a bit and probably now do a bit of explaining. Among many of my food service jobs in my younger years, one included a cafeteria server in one of the University of Georgia dining halls closest to my dorm. This was supposed to be a great thing since I'd taken the money my parents gave me for the meal plan my freshman year and bought a ticket to see a boyfriend in New York instead.  After getting busted, I no longer received money for food, so I needed a place to eat for free and make a few bucks on the side. No problem.  I deserved it.

I was promptly assigned to one of the most popular lines, which included hamburgers, hot dogs, french fries and the ever popular mystery cheese sauce. Invariably, most 17-18 year old college kids that frequented my line would order either two hamburgers, two hot dogs, and one ENTIRE plate of cheese fries. This wasn't an issue until I realized that giving one full plate of fries to nearly every customer meant they didn't last all that long and I'd spend inordinate amounts of time changing out trays of fries from the back, which created a backlog of customers that never seemed to end.

As a solution, (and a prelude to my later fitness trainer mode), I began putting fries in much smaller bowls with a bit of cheese and ONLY offering the small serving. When the masses complained, I told them they were welcome to get back in line and get another bowl, but this way, everyone could get a little bit and the line moved much faster.  Many students got very irritated and came back through the line later for more, although some simply gave up and ate the smaller serving.  I hope they are thanking me now for not gaining 56 pounds during their freshman year. 

Anyhow, once I finished my shift, I would typically go downtown to the clubs with my friends, as many college kids do.  Since the dining hall where I worked serviced at least six freshman dorms in the area, there were a large portion of students that knew me from the serving line and began referring to me as "The Fry Witch".  Except they didn't say witch.  You get the picture.  Some used it as a derogatory term, and some as affection, but either way, I embraced the title with honor.

I'm many years removed from my Fry Witch days, but I still believe in the principle of moderation.  I look back fondly on my young adulthood, but wouldn't trade where I am today for anything in the world.  I hope you enjoy my little blog and I look forward to posting more down the road!

Keep Moving!