I started my morning a little surprised by the reaction I had to a blog I read about career transitions.  I get a weekly feed of leadership blogs and this was on the list.  Little did I know it would so closely echo the conversation I had with my dad this weekend while sitting around his new fire pit.  And, like a total nerd, I emailed the author right away to find out how he did it.  He even wrote back!

This blog was about how the author quit his 20+ year corporate career to become a writer.  His father had shared a story with him about his regrets over not following his own dreams and he wanted to see his son follow his while he was still alive to see it. So the author has done just that.

My conversation went like this “Mom says you went to a writing class.  What are you doing with it?”  To my surprise, I had a lot to say about what I learned and how I have started to apply it.  I then talked about the discipline of writing and needing to be comfortable with writing a lot of bad stuff.  He said that he thinks I have a real talent both for research and for telling a story.  He said he admires how I am not afraid to speak and share my thoughts (not the same thing he was saying back when I was a kid being sent to a shrink to share my thoughts outside the family unit but that’s another story.)

 I was then able to tell him about my blog and how this is my “practice” for developing a routine with a little less pressure to be good.  Then I told him about the Moth and my goal of storytelling which is different than writing something and reciting it.  Then I told him how I am starting a small memoir and don’t need to worry about publishing because there are other avenues.  It was hard to stop explaining all the things I am working on, my strategies, my self awareness.  I talked about the exhaustion of my job and how that takes away from my creativity which is why the discipline is so hard.  I talked about being on anti-depressants for 20 years and why that makes it harder to reach quality writing.  I told him that it’s nice so many people encourage me but that doesn’t mean I am any good.  If I were being compared to others in this actual world, I would never be able to keep up with real writers and their real talent.  Basically, I shared the entire world inside my head.  And it’s ridiculously well thought out.  

It wasn’t until today that I realized I am in this.  I am really going to be in it and make this a huge part of my life.  I know I won’t make a living off it but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.  

He then said “I wish I had the courage to write.  I know I have stories to tell but I just don’t have the guts to do it.”  He might as well have just told me he wants me to chase my dream and do it in his lifetime.  The only difference is he would never tell me to quit my job.  That’s where all this emotional chaos started….decades ago when I was told I had no choices.  But that was a long Facebook post last week.  There was a lot my parents didn’t know or understand back then.  If they had it to do over, they would have tried to help me find a financially responsible way to be creative and never work behind a desk.  But we are here now and it can still be figured out.

Maybe I am supposed to write my dad’s stories for him.  Maybe his lifetime is super short at this point.  The fire pit may have lit a fire for me to get this stuff done and moving while he can see it.  I feel like a lot of life is going to change because of the conversations we have around the fire pit and I am so looking forward to it.

*I can’t take credit for this concept as it was a friend who pointed it out but I am not naming her in here for privacy reasons.  She will know who she is.

I think I have been breaking up with a friend I care immensely for.  Just typing it is making me tear up because I have never said it before.  In fact, I think my body and inner brain have known it for well over a year but the rest of me just could not catch up.  Not because of ignorance but because the truth of it has been just so preposterous to believe.

A few years ago, I needed help with something.  It was a significant and embarrassing ask but humility was all I had at that time.  There was no other way to survive and I am a survivor, if nothing else.  So if it comes down to having to embarrass myself, I am not too good for that.

I knew I would do anything at all to return the favor in the future when everything got cleared up and I would cherish this friend the way I did the ones I grew up with.  I would keep every secret she shared with me.

What I didn’t know at the time…what I don’t think she even knew at the time is there would be a price.  When she started making fun of me and talking behind my back, I could say I didn’t know until recently but I knew at least a year ago just based on something I heard that no one else would have known.  I convinced myself there had to be another explanation and kept moving forward.  I think I also felt that I deserved it …a payment for the big favor.  I wasn’t in a position to complain or ask to be treated differently.  In my mind, I thought I deserved whatever I got.

After too many of these “coincidences” over the course of the year, the evidence is like a bonfire  on my coffee table.  I just can’t ignore it, nor can I get control of and put it out.

My friend is not a bad person, I don’t think.  She has the best laugh I have ever heard.  She is ridiculously funny and wants to bring joy to difficult situations.  She has had a hard life and is making a really good one for herself and family now.  I don’t think she means harm when she picks on people or sells them out.  I think she thinks she is doing something good in a manipulative situation.  And I think she thinks the “bad” deeds can be quickly canceled by a quick good deed that is completely unrelated.  I think she has been led to believe this works, that this is strength.

And I miss her so much.  But I do not deserve this treatment even though she did something amazing for me at one time.  Any funny moment or compliment in front of the right people  doesn’t undo any of this.  At least that’s not how I think Karma is supposed to work.

I am angry.  Betrayed.  Embarrassed.  And yet, most of all, I feel these things more of myself for admitting I know this is happening than I do for her having put us in this situation.  I miss her.  But I am being me now, the person I couldn’t be a few years ago.  I am the person who does believe in myself….who knows my self worth and stands up for it.  I can admit my mistakes.  I hold myself to my original standards of integrity I took a short break from awhile back.  And I know when the balance of penance has gone too far and I don’t need to keep self flagellating.  It’s done.  I have paid for it 10 times over.  And losing this friendship means I will continue paying for it in different ways for years to come.

Once again, I got categorized as a glass half empty person.  It wasn’t coming from a malicious place.  There was a conversation about whether it’s better to fly over land or water to which I injected “Wait, why?  Don’t you die in a crash either way?”  Glass half empty.

I tried to explain that it wasn’t that I was being pessimistic.  I was being realistic in that if a plane is coming down from a high altitude, it’s not something the pilot can recover.  That usually happens shortly after takeoff or just prior to landing…the ability to somehow land the plane without causing death.

If I were a pessimist, I would follow this thinking up with “…and that’s why I will never get on a plane.”  Thing is, I do still get on the plane.  Granted, I take Lorazapam.  But I still get on the plane.  Mentally, I know death is a possible outcome.  In fact, my biggest fear is to die in a plane crash.  Next biggest fears would be dementia, ending up in a nursing home , that the last guy I had sex with is the last guy I will have had sex with.  Anyway, the point is, I face my worst case scenario while deciding to take the chance and hope for the best outcome because the best outcome far outweighs having no travel experience at all.

This example begs the question “Why do we need to categorize people into one or the other?  And “How can there only be 2 categories to describe billions of people in the world?”  To be just one or the other over-simplifies all the possibilities and beauty that can be found in not knowing all the answers.  Why are we so afraid of the unknown?  Isn’t the “unknown” a rather pessimistic and narrow view?  I’d rather frame the “unknown” to be “possibilities.”  But then wouldn’t indicate I am being an optimist?  How can I be both in the same day?

You can’t just decide to do one good deed in order to cancel out the karma of your bad deed….a friend so intelligently pointed out today.  “It doesn’t work that way.”

Here’s the thing.  If you really want to erase your guilt, you need to attempt to be absolved.  You can only do that by telling your harmed party what you have done and that you are sorry. Then, it must never happen again.  Bonus points for trying to help others do the same and letting them know their bad deeds get no audience with you.

This is hard work.  Most people don’t have the stomach for it.  I admire recovering alcoholics and addicts who go through this multiple times if they are 12 stepping it.  It’s the only way to move on and forgive yourself even if the harmed can’t forgive you.  The hurt you cause can run incredibly deep…maybe even opening childhood wounds that cannot be un-wound.

So no….an ice breaker, a compliment, a night of drinks cannot cancel out the terrible thing you did.  It may make you feel better but that’s not the entire point of it.  The harmed party has not forgotten, has not been asked to forgive.  The thing you won’t admit will always be sandwiched between you.  So sturdy your stomach and get to the hard work.

Just the other day my friend said “Never apologize for being smart or educating yourself.”

On the way home from the Cape today, I was listening to NPR which is my newest routine.  The program I was listening to was interviewing a man with dementia.  He had been a brilliant physicist and was now unable to draw a clock which is part of the tests he undergoes with his doctor.  I guess it’s a common test for this disease.  He was so disheartened by this.  Being a physicist, he decided to figure out a different way to bypass the disease by rebuilding his understanding of how a clock works so he might be able to tell time a different way and find a way to draw the clock for his next appointment,  it was amazing and heartbreaking at the same time. I was imagining what it might be like when my parents become unable to do things they once took for granted, how I will bear witness to this and try to walk them through it without letting them see the sadness in my eyes for them.

The other day I found out I was being made fun of behind my back for being smart and for getting excited by being able to answer a hard question.  You would think at my age I would be able to shrug this off as juvenile millennial behavior and not be hurt by it.  But I actually don’t have that much expertise in handling “bullying.”  The last time I was bullied was in Junior High when I was called “pink porker” for being chunky and wearing pink pants to school.  After enduring that crap and having my house egged over it, I was relieved when, one night at CCD, a girl from a local private school came to recruit.  I went home and promptly told my parents I wanted out of public school for High School and they made it happen.

Once I went to High School, I was around a bunch of smart kids with strong values so nobody really spent a lot of time picking on anyone else.  The class size was too small to really segregate so we all got along.  And the friends I made there are the core of who I am now and my deepest friendships now.  That behavior is what I know and what I practice in life.  So, yes, at 42, I find myself a little dismantled by bullying at work.  Bullying is a strong word for this one incident but it’s actually one of many over a long period of time.  It’s just the simplest one to mention right now.

Nonetheless, bullying is exactly what it is.  I do get excited when I get the answers right on Jeopardy,  So do Norma and PJ….high school friends….so it’s normal for me.  I get excited to read a new book whether it’s something historical, scientific or even an Oprah recommendation.  I love walking book store aisles over kindle.  My clutter at home is an abundance of books finding a place to retire when I am done with them.

I didn’t have much self esteem when I was a younger.  I had an undiagnosed learning disorder that I powered through on my own.  So freaking hard but I did it.  I didn’t take the traditional college path but not for lack of intelligence.  And when I could get back on the horse, I rode it straight through honors and into a highly competitive masters program at a very hard to get into University.  So, yeah, I get excited.  I fist pump sometimes.  I tell my parents that I am the smartest Dolan when I get answers right on Jeopardy.  I smile when I know words others don’t.  Not because I think I am better than them but because I exceed my original expectations of myself every time I do it.  It’s a personal win for someone whose math teacher once told her how dumb she is

These people who judge me don’t read and don’t know a lot of words.  It bothers me only in that I know I have gotten myself into the wrong career and it’s helping me figure out my next steps.   I don’t think less of others.  There are areas of life they know more about than I do which I like to listen to when they share.  Bottom line, they get paid more than me, get promoted and 40 is still a long way off for them so they don’t have the same barriers I do.  They could at least let me have “smart” without taking that away from me.  It’s all I have and I won’t be sorry or ashamed of it.

Welcome to “My Misfit Life” where I stop trying to fit into the wrong life and start building the life which fits me.  Enjoy my adventure and musings along the way!