Shouting to Quiet the Thunder

How Good Do You Need It?

2008-07-23T20:00:00.003-04:00

There is a catch phrase that has been floating around self-improvement circles for years.

How Good Can You Stand It?

Like other overused mantras pushed by self-actualization gurus, it makes my skin crawl when I hear it. It is meant to urge you to conjure up images of your better, happier, or richer self, a day, week, or year from now. Come on, picture it, how good can you stand it? Do you want that pool, that wife? Do you want the Benjamins or the accolades? The guru leads you down a path where you mind-map with your inner child and then cleanse your spirit to help you discover what stops you.

Put down the Robbins or Chopra book now, what is stopping you is simple and normal. It’s not because you got beat up in second grade, or experienced birthing trauma. It’s that your needs must be met first.

You forgo the pool teeming with hotties because you need to eat. You don’t put time into a great relationship because you need to work and perhaps all you can muster is some drunken trysts on the weekend. You don’t excel in your job because you need to be at the hospital with an ailing friend or relative.

Just so we’re clear, I’m not placing a value judgement on any of your needs or wants. I could care less if you’d rather leave the ailing aunt for the poolside beauty – it’s your life, your call, not mine. I'm only saying that many of our psychological struggles with "What should I do next??" can come when we replace our needs with our wants. I believe this mindset is a major stumbling block to a healthy, happy life.

For example, when I was in high school I convinced my mother I needed to take the day off school and camp out for Beastie Boys tickets, oh, and I needed a new outfit to do it.

Yes, I’m comparing us to the crude example of a whiny teen. We are no different. Whatever we perceive or have created as our most immediate need will take over every time.

So when we read a guru's advice, and think he's got the key and say, "What I really need is to work 80 hours a week instead of 60, so that I can be up for the VP-ship when it rolls around next time." We should then temper our enthusiasm, put on our reality caps and ask, "Even if it will help me achieve my long-term goals, is it right?" You might win a stellar job, but will you pay the price with your sanity?

I’ve talked about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, and think about it whenever I feel like I’m not performing up to my imagined standards. I remind myself that my base needs are primal: food, water, safety. I love that relationships are next. That is an area I ignore then wonder why I feel empty.

By focusing on my needs, I found the courage to quit my job and I am satisfied stopping at love these days. Loving myself, stealing more time from work and projects to spend with family and friends, though it's not as frequent as I'd like. I’m learning to stop focusing on the peak of that stupid pyramid. But it’s the peak we’re all told to focus on. We start to neglect the foundations.

I used to have a good friend, we’ll call him Joe. Joe kept that pyramid peak in the front-most of his mind since his youth. The self-image he created, no doubt with other familial and societal influence, was to be rich. More specifically, he would tell you, "Make six figures by the time he was 30." Since middle school, Joe prepped himself for this life. Joe joined the clubs that would look best for college entrance, won internships for placement in more prestigious internships. His Ivy League pedigrees have scored him jobs like you see in movies where you have to sell your soul to the devil to get them. He's worth it too, he hands competition their ass on a platter every time. He is a huge success by many standards.

However, Joe revealed to me years ago on a break from his Wall Street gig that he felt as if, indeed, “He no longer had a soul.” His skin was pale, he’d gained weight. A few years later I heard his plans to marry fizzled with a broken engagement, and his physical (and I’d argue mental) health began to fail. He was plagued by chronic pain due physical manifestations of stress and underwent major back surgery at 28.

Joe ignored his basic needs for so long that his wants got the best of him.

I’m not sure what Joe is doing today specifically, we don’t talk anymore because our friendship is, embarassingly, beyond repair. I do know Joe got what he wanted. But did he get what he needed?

Don’t ignore your needs. While I don't believe success requires you to sell your soul and crumble from mental and physical exhaustion, I know that risking any fundamental needs will make your success stale and far less enjoyable.

Think about it, wouldn’t you like to be able to swim in that pool, or make love to that hottie without taking blood pressure meds and visiting the physical therapist the next day?

Links for 2008-07-22 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-23T00:00:00-05:00

YouTube - Feist on Sesame Street

Get Away From Me!

2008-07-21T21:24:00.006-04:00

If there has ever been an award for Best Clever Mockery on an album cover, it must have gone to Nellie McKay's 2004 release, Get Away From Me. I love her triumphant expression, paired with her shocking potty mouth and quirky gangster-rap-musical-theatre inspired songs. I imagine her as a long lost distant musical cousin.

While I appreciate the ribbing of Norah Jones' Come Away With Me (I think we can all agree we were force fed that album), what I appreciate more is the sentiment.

I am a curmudgeon. I often feel like McKay looks - arms outstretched, ready to embrace the world and its wonders, yet simultaneously eager to be left alone. Mostly so I can grumble in the privacy of my own home or blog. While I don't fundamentally dislike humanity, my socializing half-life is short and the fewer people around me, the better. I think that is why I love being married so much. I have my best friend all to myself forever.

It might be considered odd that I love performing as it requires me to sing to crowds of strangers, but I rarely interact with anyone directly, and I'll duck away from the audience at the end of a show like a bootleg DVD seller who spots a police officer heading her way.

This disposition was fine as long as I had enough reasons to leave the house, forcing me to regularly interact with people. However, even though I've only worked from home for about two weeks now, it's been sufficiently long enough to give me a peculiar disposition, and possibly, disadvantage in society.

I am, officially, 85 years old.

I now feel uneasy simply going to the dentist. I get jumpy when approached by someone unexpectedly and drive at least 10 miles per hour under posted speed limits.

When I do find a stranger I'm comfortable talking to, I'll casually mention that I discovered the secret to crisp, yet chewy, cookies. I find Rachel Ray passable and today I lunched when Dr. Phil was on, raising my brow, "Who knew 11 year old girls needed the HPV vaccine...little sluts!"

And while working from home is my greatest dream come true, I'm wondering if it could potentially make me "age" faster, or further perpetuate and amplify my generally sour disposition. Time will tell.

I think there are some good things about being old at heart, and it's not just the delectable cookies. I think that though I've certainly not dealt with the kind of hardships that most of the world's population deals with, it sometimes feels like I've already had enough heartache for one life, last year being the hardest. However, I think with age comes wisdom, and at a certain point, even though life gets you down so much you cry uncle, you learn to simply throw up your hands and laugh.

Would you like some milk with that deary? Subscribe to Shouting to Quiet the Thunder, Granny's got something baking right now...

He called it Starbuck.

2008-07-18T01:10:00.002-04:00

My dog needs a haircut terribly. In an effort to find a suitable groomer I find myself trekking halfway across the county because I like the sound of the woman's voice.

I decide to work from a Starbucks while I wait.

As I pull up to my Googled location, I resent its convenience. It is a Starbucks I remember going to with my father because an auto parts supplier was in the same strip mall. He always called it Starbuck. He was helping repair the car he convinced me to buy, swore he could fix, and helped me sell a few months later.

I hold a shred of hope that some employee has worked there long enough to remember the man with the moustache. Any Starbucks we went to, my father didn’t have to utter a word to order. Someone would have the cup ready for him by the time he reached the counter. As if it were all part of the ceremony, my father would then hand me the cup, tell me to pour out almost half of the coffee, replace with cream and then hold the jar of sugar upside down for a slow count of 10. Think about it.

I enter. I don't know what I expected. Maybe silence. I allow myself to be angered by everyone in the establishment, as if they are chatting and drinking lattes in a mausoleum.

Most are seated in pairs. The first, a couple? No, co-workers. He is wearing a polo shirt with an indistinguishable logo and gets up to order. She looks uncomfortable, and is typing an email furiously, darting her eyes over her shoulder to time his return.

To my right, two older women speak a guttural foreign language. They must be family members, their resemblance striking right down to perfectly plastic-ed noses plopped back upon their mottled faces smothered in make-up. One wears a musty wig and shoulderpads heartbreakingly visible through her sheer sequined shirt.

Another pair of women are talking over each other about their wayward families, trading war stories as far back as last Thanksgiving. They insist on forcing the lithe, tan blonde heading out the door to chat with them because she reminds them of someone. The blonde hoping to quickly satisfy their curiosity is squirming for her smoke break. The women refuse to excuse her as they exchange glances over her tattooed midriff.

I look away just in time to catch a man in full golf attire conducting a vigorous readjustment of his package. Business on the green today? I forgivingly neglect to take obvious notice.

Shortly thereafter I decide I must leave because I desperately need a paper shredder.

I read in my car instead.

Links for 2008-07-16 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-17T00:00:00-05:00

Links for 2008-07-15 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-16T00:00:00-05:00

The Prison Workout

Ack. Conservatives Don't Actually Think That!

2008-07-15T21:55:00.007-04:00

I almost died when I saw the cover of The New Yorker.

Professor Gina Barreca's blog sums it up, "The New Yorker cover was about as sophisticated a piece of satire as a penis drawn on a desk. "

Now, The New Yorker has tried to pedantically explain the cover to the public, "We're mocking the mockers." Oh wait, forgive me, I didn't realize the most liberal magazine in the country tried to make an ironic funny. Well, not funny. On so many levels. This requires a numbered list.

1. As much as I don't like Senator Obama's policies, I am of a strange opinion that we should at least attempt to show a modicum of respect for the people in public office, and those that serve in the military. This cover art is a degradation of both. Kind of like when "fine art" photographer Andres Serrano, debuted his seminal Jesus on a Crucifix in a Jar of Pee. Daring? Sure. Meaningless? Check! Offensive? You bet. This is no different.

2. No principled conservative actually thinks Barack Obama is a militant muslim terrorist spouting anti-American propaganda. While I might think his policies are bad for the country - I feel it is from errors of judgement, misplaced values, and overly-confident fiscal policies. I don't think he actually wants to inflict harm upon the people of this country. I just think his policies will take us in a gravely wrong direction. Strong difference of opinion? Yes. Does it warrant mockery and name-calling? No, I can't think of a single conservative I would take seriously if they did.

3. The claim that this cover art will "get people talking" and somehow "dissipate long-held misjudgement" is fantasy. This kind of sensationalism further divides and fosters misrepresentation. Forgive my grade-school mentality but: it's not nice. I get so irritated when people who call themselves artists do something stupid and then defend it because it was an act of supposedly divine inspiration. Art must be measured on some basis of objectivity if we are to put value on it. Stuff like this cover is worthless. I'd expect more from MAD magazine.

Will You Still Respect Me Tomorrow?

2008-07-15T20:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve been asking this question a lot lately. No, it’s not because I’ve embarked on a string of one-night-stands, it’s a question I’ve been posing to my husband ad nauseum since I decided to quit my job and be a stay at home wife. Note: If anyone has been waiting to call me hypocrite, here is your golden opportunity. Before I decided to leave my job, I wrote a long piece on why I thought the plight of the stay-at-home-dad was total bullshit, and that Mr. Mom should learn to suck it up and love his time off.

Er. Um. Sheepish sorry.

However, I’m not doing a 180. I hold fast to my opinion that there is no logical reason anyone shouldn’t respect a stay at home whomever, and that anyone in that position can feel confident of their value.

What I am realizing is that there is a pretty big psychological garden to tend to when one spouse is in this role. Despite my desire to approach this life change with logic and reason, I have felt the fear of losing my husband’s respect.

I feel myself being warped into a world where I’m disrespected for being a woman, particularly a housewife. I find myself saying things like, “Well, I’ve worked all day too…” to stake my territory as equal contributor to the family despite drastically reduced income.

To be honest, I’ve been working like a dog since I quit my job. I see just how disorganized we are, how lonely our pooch is, how much food we waste, how many calls need returning, and dishes and laundry that need to be washed. While I was busy working and studying, we either let things slip or it was my husband who took on the extra load.

Because of this, I’ve been eager to show my gratitude for his support, urging him to let me know if he needed me to do anything. But yesterday, when he asked me to iron his shirts, it was like some psycho-anti-man switch went off in my head.

I assumed he thought I wasn’t doing anything. I assumed that within a few short days, he thought he’d acquired a maid. I’m also sure I’ve been over-confident as to what I can accomplish in an 8 hour day (much like when I worked full-time) and have over-sold my schedule. I’m sure I just don’t understand how it all works yet.

I did take my own advice though and talked to him about my feelings before they got out of hand. He said, “This is nothing new. You’ve had this fear since we met and you always realize I still love and respect you.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“Okay, what about when we dated and you wouldn’t let me buy you things because you thought we wouldn’t interact as equals? Or how when you moved in you thought I was refusing to clear out closet space for you because I didn’t want you there, but in reality you never told me you needed it?”

“Um.”

“You are over that, right? Don’t you see as far as I’m concerned, we’re 50/50?”

The answer is yes. I know he means what he says. And after 15 more minutes of bickering all I could say was, “I know you respect me. But I need you to be extra sensitive that I am afraid you won’t for right now.”

I hate that I need coddling about this. I want to be strong and firm in my choice to dump my job. I know it’s the best choice, I know that I was going to lose my mind if I stayed. I know that I’m so much happier that I’ve done it. I know my husband respects me and I’m even more valuable now that he has a wife who is happy, self-assured, and can respect herself enough to leave an unhealthy situation.

So, since my husband is not the culprit and I’m not a fan of blaming “society,” I’ll need to spend some time asking myself why I feel this way despite evidence to the contrary.

Same story, different tune.

What can I say, I love new melodies. Subscribe to Shouting to Quiet the Thunder, where the music is always playing…

Links for 2008-07-13 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-14T00:00:00-05:00

Links for 2008-07-12 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-13T00:00:00-05:00

YTMND - Danson With Himself

Links for 2008-07-11 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-12T00:00:00-05:00

Michelle Obama is not Racist, Just Self-Centered

2008-07-10T21:38:00.019-04:00

“Earlier in my college career, there was no doubt in my mind that as a member of the Black community I was somehow obligated to this community and would utilize all of my present and future resources to benefit this community first and foremost.”
Michelle Obama, Princeton-Educated Blacks and the Black Community

Monica O’Brien of Twenty Set wrote a piece explaining that Michelle Obama, for a variety of understandable reasons, is now her motivation to vote for Barack. From the comments it seems many of her readers feel the same.

Monica says she is inspired by seeing a powerful woman in an influential role in the nation’s political affairs. While it is laudable that Mrs. Obama is a Princeton and Harvard graduate with considerable experience and skills, I don’t find her or her husband’s proposals for public policy particularly inspiring.

Michelle Obama has been accused of being a racist and an advocate of black separatism. I think those types of accusations are ridiculous, and detract from meaningful critique. I do think it’s clear however, if not from her Princeton thesis, (Part 1, which was originally supposed to be restricted until after the election), from her many public speeches that as an individual she is principally focused on the “black experience” and her own “blackness.” (Her words.) Her passion for understanding the black experience does not make her racist, but demonstrates commitment to honoring and revealing her unique culture, psyche, and individuality through a particular lens. I don’t have a problem with that. In fact, I feel I can relate to her.

My family ethnicity is Serbo-Croatian, and I’m enamored with the culture. I immerse myself in the art, music, language, culture, and customs. I contribute to The Slavic Bazaar (a site my sister started) dedicated to all things slavic! I’ll tell you how pizza, seafood, salad, and ice cream is better in the former Yugoslavia, or a Serb, Nikola Tesla, invented electricity. With scant evidence, I’ve tried to convince friends that Haydn was Croatian (Austrian, close), that Yugoslavs invented the fork, or that Croatia was once the axis of the Roman empire (though it did comprise a large part.)

I can’t help my Slavic-centricity, the culture is in my blood. However, while I’m committed to learning as much as I can and dedicate considerable time and effort doing so, I would never expect or force someone else to feel the same.

Similarly, I think Michelle’s emphasis on her “blackness” is appropriate for her personal pursuits, or any other private entity that finds it of value, but of limited relevance as a possible First Lady. Similarly, if I was in her position, emphasizing the value of my Serbo-Croatianess, and vowing to use all my resources towards advancing such aims through public policy – my reign on stages would be short-lived, and rightly so.

That is my criticism. It may be tedious to mention that the United States is bursting with a population of myriad races, ethnicities, abilities, and interests. A President and his First Lady should be keenly aware of embracing that diversity by respecting individual rights. This is not through achieved through policy-making that is limited in scope at best, narrowly focused on singular communities, black or otherwise.

No matter how intelligent a leader holds the Presidency, the government could never plan a system that can account for the innumerable ways diversity manifests itself. Attempts to force an outcome will always fail, which is why I squirm when Michelle Obama proclaims that, “Barack Obama will require you to work. He is going to demand that you shed your cynicism. That you put down your divisions. That you come out of your isolation, that you move out of your comfort zones. That you push yourselves to be better. And that you engage. Barack will never allow you to go back to your lives as usual, uninvolved, uninformed.”

The President is a steward of freedom and individual rights, of course. But that cannot be won through intimidation, no matter how benign the designs and lofty the ideals appear.

The dismal history of central planning shows that government attempts to artificially construct a social or economic ideal leads to failures too numerous to recount, which are amusing in their ineffectiveness at best, and lead to populations of oppressed or slaughtered at worst.

I have a brilliant friend who is half-Columbian who used to say, “My father came to this country a penniless immigrant, your father came to this country a penniless immigrant, and yet I’m the one who got a free education.” I would not underestimate that my friend’s talents won him full scholarships through two undergraduate and two master’s degrees, a PhD, and ultimately a tenure-track professorship at a Big Ten university, he's remarkable. However, he found this to be a baffling example of the exclusionary policies inherent in affirmative action, which was designed to foster inclusion and equal opportunity. I'm inclined to agree.

Links for 2008-07-10 [del.icio.us]

2008-07-11T00:00:00-05:00

My Point Exactly

2008-07-09T15:56:00.003-04:00

If you are a regular Shouting to Quiet the Thunder reader, you may fondly recall the thrashing I received after the piece I did on bike riding.

With that in mind, watch this YouTube video. Ask questions, should you have any, later...

When Faced With Two Choices, What To Do??

2008-07-08T20:00:00.005-04:00

I am a big fan of Naomi Dunsford of IttyBiz, so I hope she’ll forgive me for this half-assed reference to her brilliance, but I think she said something like, when you are trying to decide what to do next (regarding your home business) do what is closest to the money.

If I’ve slaughtered the sentiment, forgive, I couldn’t pinpoint the original reference on her site, so I’ve only her to blame for the a plethora of excellent content through which to scour.

While I think that is a wonderful way to frame your day for productivity and success, I have a tendency to run wild with great ideas until I've run myself into the ground. If you are anything like me, whether you work for yourself (as I happily do now) or someone else, at any given moment, you can do what is closer to the money or to the sanity. Though there are moments when the actions you take bring about both, I believe they are at odds most of the time. Even if you love what you do. For example, I’m a singer and private voice teacher. I’m a part time grad student. I’m a stay at home wife. I’m a blogger. I love these activities, and only one pays cold hard cash.

Therein lies my dilemma. If I want to be productive, I will spend all my time studying, or getting gigs and students. When I'm itching to follow this yellow-brick path of productivity promises, that’s when a Wizard of Oz-type figure looms before me and booms: Remember, your job or money was never the inherent problem; you are.

Then I skulk off and ruminate on how I'm doomed to find myself in the same situation I just left at my full-time job: haggard and uninspired. I gently remind myself that money can’t buy sanity. It provides for basic needs and the occasional jolly good time. If I want a sane and healthy life, I have to find balance. I have to shift my focus to taking care of myself, which may mean giving up a few bucks.

For example, right now, if I wanted to do what is closest to the money, I would stop writing this post, and work on my home business. I'd post “quality content” on my other blog about singing, design the ad for a program I bought space in, drum up business from referrals, research new ways to advertise in my area.

If I wanted to do what was closest to the sanity, I’d finish this post, bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies, take a long walk, then start preparing dinner.

Which did I choose? Well, if you are reading this, I think you know.

Hoping to snag my secret cookie recipe? Subscribe to Shouting to Quiet the Thunder and maybe it will pop up...

Compelling Link

2008-07-08T08:00:00.000-04:00

Rarely do I write a post just to link to something, but today is different.

Go to this site: Common Ties

It reminds me of PostSecret, and it will suck you in. The premise is there are 20 questions that are on the site, you upload your answers and they post the best ones.

Some of the most chilling and heartwarming stuff I've read.

Finding My New Path in Life

2008-07-07T06:49:00.009-04:00

It’s been a long time since I've sat at my home computer to write, what feels like ages in blogging terms where communication moves so fast you feel like a slug if you respond in less than 24 hours. I’m back from a vacation in the countries of the former Yugoslavia, the lands of my ancestors, the cities my father lived and walked, the places he took my mother during their courtship.

This trip has been life changing and life affirming. It has been a salve, and a glue. It felt like a month, but was two short weeks. I climbed mountains spilling over with waterfalls, ventured into caves, toured the Adriatic coast of Croatia and glacial lakes of Slovenia, I traveled the serpentine roads of war-ravaged Bosnia, I spoke to the people in their language. I ate the food, drank the wine, danced the dances. The whole shebang.

I had the time of my life. I wrote a post recently about how change is not affecting me like it used to, but change is continuing to happen, almost against my will. It’s exciting, but for the first time I’m accepting change with a peace and calm previously unknown. I don’t know if it is because I’m older, married, making tough career decisions, or saw my father pass away. I don’t know if these life passages make change easier or what. I don’t know if it’s a natural progression. I only know I’ve never felt this way.

I feel like I’m stepping into a completeness I never imagined I would have. Not because it's not possible, but because it's reserved for people a bit more sane than I. More deserving. I don’t know if it’s because I’m embracing faith, I don’t know if it’s because I’m letting old wounds heal, I don’t know if it’s because I’m letting hackneyed arguments fade. I don’t know.

I don’t know why I feel this way. It feels incredible, yet mundane. Still. Of this world. Grounded in reality. Whole and contented. On the right path.

Is it because I’ve strayed from myself for so long, that this is what it feels like to be true to myself? Is this what all those writers I’d been drawn to my whole life also experienced and wanted to share, and I’d rail against them in disbelief? Is this what my parents had wanted for me? Is this what I’ve always wanted and now it’s here?

I’m reluctant to say yes. I’m scared that an affirmation will break the spell. You know, like when you are told to make a wish which will only come true if you promise not to breathe a word of it? I’m frightened that if I tell you that I’ve become happy that it will all fizzle and fade because I’ve courted fear and forboding for so long.

I don’t expect to be floating on a bliss-cloud forever. But even drudgery feels different. The bad experiences I have had lately don’t feel like they were tailor-made to crush and beat me down. They feel more like the natural bumps on the path of a well-worn life. This is the point. I’m back on the path. I’m moving forward. I’m not stopped and stuck on the side of the road, seeing life ahead and refusing to go with it. I got back on my horse.

Thinking of riding off into the sunset too? Subscribe to Shouting to Quiet the Thunder, cowboys and girls…

Crossing the Line

2008-07-03T12:47:00.000-04:00

I'd describe myself as an ever-searching Catholic, as in, I struggle with doubt constantly. That's why I love it when I see crosses in unlikely places. I like to pretend it's a sign I'm on the right path. Forgive the literal nature of my observation, but it's how my brain works.

Moment of Zen

2008-07-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

I imagine this is what most tiny creatures see, peering up through grasses, seeing looming figures of mystery above.

Caged: An Obvious Metaphor

2008-06-30T12:39:00.000-04:00

I was struck by the starkness of this caged rose (?) bush, pre-bloom. Your mind immediately fills in the thorny, skeletal limbs with the beautiful blushes to come.

How to Keep Silent?

2008-06-26T19:53:00.000-04:00

There was a poem used to love so much I kept it on my wall, reciting it daily, always on the tip of my mind:

Let your beauty manifest itself without talking or calculation.
You are silent.
It says for you: I am.
And comes in meaning thousandfold, comes at long last over everyone.

The poem comes from Rainer Marie Rilke – the only poet I’ve ever loved, though I cannot say I ever tried to love poetry, as I find it difficult to read for pure enjoyment. Rilke inspired my devotion because he evoked characters, images, and worlds in a few lines. He could create the things I loved most about novels, only he offered tiny vignettes that enticed you into immersion.

This poem has haunted me since it first introduced itself. I can’t shake the puzzle from my mind. Today it bubbled up after reading this blog post, “There are lines of poetry so powerful, so soul shaping that one must carry them in one's memory…” My poem (I think I've earned that) haunts me precisely because I wonder why I was so drawn to it. Why does it resonate, and from where does the attachment grasp?

Does she mimic the future me I've imagined: strong, flawless, graceful, a pleasure to be around? A fable. And yet, she's there. An example. A painful reminder that because someone gave her form, she is real.

I was never the protagonist of this poem.

I'm convinced Rilke drew a woman in his sights when he wrote this. Coaxing her not to speak, why? What a luxury to keep silent! A problem I'd be lucky to have. As evidenced by the words before you, I cannot be quiet. I'm haunted, not only by poetry, but by everything that slips in my sight and psyche. I must name the things that parade past me, good or bad.

But this woman. She can keep quiet. Not out of submission, but out of a triumph surpassing her former trials, I imagine. "...at long last..." I play-act. Like an actress muttering her lines in the green room, I rehearse the woman I intend to be, just not yet.

Then I read another article that struck me. The Pains of Memory by Theodore Dalrymple via Arts & Letters Daily. He reveals the stories of two women who had endured grave traumas, yet chose silence as their coping mechanism. One woman decided to reveal her pains later, the other, died with her secrets. Reading the article, I felt ashamed of my constant need to deliver harangue via the internet. My petty fears, my childish anguish. I suffer, yes, but my suffering is not appeased knowing others suffer more.

Dalrymple knowingly catches this tendency, "We are enjoined, when we suffer or feel unhappy (which are not necessarily quite the same thing, of course), to consider those who are yet worse off than ourselves. This is supposed to relieve and console us, but it rarely does. The most that it achieves is to make us feel guilty that we are so miserable over comparative trifles when others have so many worse travails than ours; and this in turn makes us feel more wretched than ever."

Perhaps this poem is meant for me. It matches my obsessions with a possible solution: silence. And I'll continue to ignore it. And it will continue to haunt me.

Ragamuffin

2008-06-24T12:11:00.002-04:00

This photo makes me laugh. If I were a flower, it might be this one. It is unkempt and audacious.

Ten Things I Will Miss When I Die

2008-06-23T21:00:00.004-04:00

I read this exercise on the blog of one of my favorite authors, Geneen Roth: name ten things you will miss when you die. I always think, "Oh how trite and irritating" when I comes across such soul-searching exercises, but simplicity can be profound.

My list:

1. Cooking from scratch, the scents, the flavors, new recipes.
2. Looking at old photographs, observing passages of time, seeing my soul aging along with my body.
3. The eyes of someone I love when we connect without speaking.
4. Belonging to a circle of family and friends that love me without question.
5. When a musician, dancer, or artist communicates in the absence of words.
6. Creating a work of art, music, or writing as an amateur.
7. My amateur endeavors as an artist and writer.
8. Cool rain - bare feet - hot cement.
9. Laughter.
10. Explosive colors in nature

My joys are simple. None of them require fame, money, or talent. My favorite things need little explanation or preparation. So why is it that I spend most of my living worrying about things I don’t like that much anyways?

What are the things you seem to live without but will miss most when you are gone?

Life in Pictures

2008-06-22T17:00:00.003-04:00

Since I've recently quit my job - I'm attempting to enjoy the simple things in life more. I took some photos recently when Mike surprised me with a trip to the Cleveland Botanical Gardens while visiting his parents. Lovely.

I thought I'd share the things that captured my attention over the next few days in lieu of posting. Sometimes we run out of words and would do well to stare at something beautiful, contemplating whatever comes to mind. I hope these photos turn your gears.

Time Off

2008-06-19T22:00:00.002-04:00

I quit my job little over 30 days ago, my last day was this week. It was the act of courage that inspired my thirty day twittering exercise, though I didn’t write about it at the time because I wasn’t sure how things would shake out. The news has since worked its way through everyone’s system, most importantly, mine.

For the past two years I’ve worked full time while going to grad school; slowing cutting back on things I loved doing in my free time, and spending more time away from my family and new marriage.

I’m proud of all I’ve accomplished, and yet, I’m worn thin by a hectic lifestyle and have a lot of regrets. I quit, not because I dislike my job, or the opportunities it affords; I quit because it was the most responsible decision. No matter how great a job you have, it’s never worth your well-being or relationships. It's so easy to say now that I'm on the other side of the gut-wrenching decision I took too long to make.

I suppose I clung to a promise that going at this pace would lead to financial success. I have equated self-worth with my earning potential since I could first work. Always proud of my 2 to 4 job-at-a-time status, work has been the safety basket that I had been putting all my golden eggs in, believing that I would eventually keep my family from financial ruin. This cheap myth composed by a young, frightened girl was shattered when my father died just over six months ago.

Any fool can become a millionaire if they sacrifice enough. Sure I’d excel, but to what end? To a fault. I devote myself so completely to my commitments that I have trouble choosing what is best for me. And I don’t want to be that person anymore. Workaholic, obsessive, unhealthy, frazzled.

My father's death left me broken, but with a great gift: cancer has a way of breaking down belief systems. Nothing is the same now. And frankly, my job doesn’t compare. No amount of raises, promotions, or overtime would have prevented his stroke or given me more time with him.

I quit my job. The world didn’t end. Time didn’t stop. The only person crying was me. Like my family members, my boss and co-workers expressed surprise, concern, and then excitement and understanding. We all adjusted to the new input and went about business as usual.

A delicate balance lies ahead. I’m well aware that my workaholic tendencies could easily translate into my new roles. I know myself well, and I’ll be writing about the ways I trick myself out of it. I’m open to suggestions too.

Smell the roses.

Thinking of quitting your job? Subscribe to Shouting to Quiet the Thunder to see how it goes...

Compelling Before and After

2008-06-19T12:32:00.003-04:00

I Don't Care What I Think

2008-06-18T17:42:00.007-04:00

I haven’t written for writing’s sake in a while. I feel so compelled to say something useful all the time now that I’m running ads and my posts are featured on Brazen Careerist. Too bad my most useful and benign article to date, “How to Survive a Bike Ride” brought on the most wrath. It left me confused, dejected, wondering…“How, oh how, can I make everyone happy?”

Oh yeesh, not really. But I had a moment when I realized I took my blog, the one thing I’ve committed to lately that had been unstructured, fun, a love song to the things I hate, and turned it into another pet project for perfection.

Why do I do this? Why the manipulation? Why do I parade myself around on a stage for my own approval? Even the mean comment guy is long gone. He probably can’t even remember my URL, God knows he didn’t favorite me. I can see him feverishly typing into Google: “Yelling into a Quiet Storm?” No no. “Crying in a Breezy Nook?”

He’ll never find me now.

I started this blog to give myself an outlet for the massive pain and regret I experienced over the last year. Writing has always given me sanity. Publishing it online gave me a reason to fight for it. My dad died, and I was running out of ways to say, “I’m sad.” And I started writing because I couldn’t bear talking anymore. I couldn’t have one more conversation about how depressed I was. I couldn’t make my husband sit still while I verbally vomited all over him. I couldn’t chat with my friends and lie about how I was doing OK. So I started writing. I started reading other blogs and writing mean comments on the happy posts about possibilities. I kept doing this until I decided I was kind of an asshole and perhaps life as I knew it wasn’t over.

I convinced my husband I would have a nervous breakdown if I didn’t quit my job. Oh, wait, scratch that – he convinced me. I refused for a long time. Then I realized he was right.

And now, I’m sitting here, semi-jobless ('cause I have approximately 5), happy, and hopeful. I'll write all about my miraculous transformation (and it's seed) some other time, because right now, I'm content enough to bask in it. I don't need to prove to anyone how, why, or when it came about. I'm thrilled I made an informed, adult decision with my well-being in mind.

I laugh because I never imagined I would be happy and hopeful about a me that is a slightly fatter and less prepared for retirement than I was a year ago. But I don’t care! I mean, I care in that I’ll try to cut down on the cookies, and I’ll make a plan for my life, but I’m not going to hate myself and settle into the depression where I’ve always felt the most comfortable. It’s just not for me anymore. At least for today and that’s all I’ve got.

My Experiment in Brain Doping

2008-06-17T20:45:00.001-04:00

Ah, science. You bastion of never-ending wonder. Filling our bodies with substances to make us smarter, live longer, or create an unnatural breast-to-body ratio so women can look fat in t-shirts (Thank you Amy Pohler, and thank you science.)

Reading this article on brain-doping made me think about the frontiers we’re entering in terms of science and the mind. Not necessarily in innovation, that’s a given, but in acceptance and integration. The article talks about the legal aspects of being allowed to dope or not to dope. It mentions that, “While it is perfectly legal to feed—even force feed—Ritalin to a child, unsupervised use by knowledgeable grownups is a crime.”

Furthermore, a recent study polling 1,400 readers of the science journal Nature (mostly scientists and academics, according to the article) indicates that many are in favor of popping pills to enhance mind performance. However, even more compelling is that 4 out of 5 thought “healthy adults should be able to take the drugs if they want to.”

I agree we should have the choice, but is it worth it?

I’ve always shied away from prescription drugs unless absolutely necessary, but this article reminded me that I have fallen prey to the promises of brain doping, albeit legally and in a way I thought was “natural.”

A few years ago, I was studying for a particularly grueling exam, one that left my ability to show my face at work in the balance. I had also, for some idiotic reason, scheduled to get all my wisdom teeth pulled within days of the exam. I was suffering from fatigue and mind fog, and caffeine (the classic doper, it could be argued) was no longer helping.

I’d heard about ginko biloba’s natural memory enhancing properties, and decided to do some more research online. I came across a guy online claiming to know all about brain-enhancing herbs and naturally occurring isolated proteins. Apparently he was a research scientist at a major university and had extensive knowledge on the topic. While I was dubious, I was also desperate, and took his advice.

Armed with Mr. Herb’s recommendations, I went to my natural food hangout which has an extensive herbal formula section. At the store, I was talked into buying, “The Ultimate Mind Enhancer.” Note to readers: not his real name, or the product’s real name, because I know you were totally going to Google them.

I was eager to see what would happen. I popped the suggested dosage on my car ride home. However, it seemed something was going horribly wrong. My pulse sped up, my skin turned bright red and blotchy, my eyes teared and I felt like I was running out of breath.

What the hell is this? Speed? I pulled over in panic. Shit shit shit. What did I do? What did I do?

I scrolled down the label…”Do not take this supplement if you’ve recently had major surgery, as it could have adverse side effects with anesthesia and prescription drugs, particularly NSAIDS.”

I’m going to die.

I called my doctor, tail between my legs for not calling first. I know better than to guzzle wares peddled by herbalists. I’ve heard a million times how supplements can be just as potent as prescription drugs, but trusted the recommendation.

It turns out I panicked for no reason, the doctor assured me that unless I’d just had open heart surgery, the amount of anesthesia or prescription meds wouldn’t negatively interact with the herbs and to simply ride it out. I was shocked that such a crazy reaction was “normal,” but certainly I had only myself to blame for the shock! I returned the bottle the next day, citing adverse side effects.

I’ve gotta tell you though, the inital effects wore off quickly, and that study session, my mind was sharp as a knife. Whatever was in that bottle seemed to do the trick.

So – if prescription drugs that had brain boosting properties were legal or if you found the perfect herbal cocktail – would you use them to enhance performance on the job or in school? Do you already use them? Do you think it gives the user an unfair advantage? What about caffeine? That's legal and I know I would be useless on the job without it.