Back on Track

I've come to think of myself as one of the more self-absorbed fellows I know. Unless I'm a Bounty towel, I don't see that as good.

black and white

Driving back from Port Townsend this afternoon, we stopped off at McDonald's with a poorly-feeling child and two adults craving french fries. A bit of car sickness, unpleasant. We hoped that the healing karma of McDonald's might help.

Before you blow a gasket, I'm really talking about the normative promise of the experience of McDonald's. McD's is a road comfort for many because you know what to expect. And you typically get what you expect, which can often be better than getting what you need. Sorry. At somepoint, the Stones crept in and my point went blooy. Damn wild horses!

My hope was the the kidplay area would divert enough emotional attention away from nausea and stabilize the car blorp feelings. I watched four or five (hell, maybe 300) kids wind through the twisty colorful conduit. Once again, I had greasy visions of an abundance of bacteria rubbing themselves into the playkids. Ugh. It occured to me that the knot of play tubes was the personification of Ronald McDonald's intestines: cheerful, well-ordered, and I will let you fill in whatever thought you want. I had many. You know me, always taking the high road. By the way, my intestines are fine, thank you for asking.

Part of the fun of watching the kids (does anyone need to explain the pleasures of watching kids at play?) was that there were two kids that had just made friends with each other and were in kid love. They'd follow the other around, animal stalk each other and just grin like crazy. Very sweet. I had watched them for a bit when I remembered something from my childhood. Back then, it was a rare in my town to see non-white kids let alone play with them.

I was with a male elder on some unremembered errand. In my small town, all driving happened at very slow speeds, it seemed to me. The automobile, she only went fast on the Inter-state. What's more, when this elder was a kid, he got around in a horse and buggy. My guess is that I must have been quite younger than ten. Couldn't say exactly.

As well rolled along, we spotted a black kid playing in his yard. Looked just a bit older than me. What prompted this man I revered to say: "Hey Phil. Why don't you go over there and say "Hi chocolate drop?" This felt distinctly weird to my young self, somehow wrong and shameful. I know that we were in his car but I remember feeling as if the car dissolved away as I contemplated his question. He pressed on by saying something about the kid being made of chocolate, like a Hersey's Kiss and that's just how it was so it was okay to say it. My response was a simple no, flat with confusion. I rarely had anything to forgive him for and I let this this pass. But I chewed on his motivation for this for years.

This memory collided with those sweet kids today. If you are anything like me, you find it difficult to measure any generational sense of positive change. Most of us have been flattened so often with "Well, when I was a kid, we had to..." that we must crumple automatically when faced with evaluating long-term social change. How do you appreciate progress in an imperfect present that contains horrors that you can describe in one word: Katrina, Darfur?

Watching these two kids play today, both so clear, happy and energized gave me a bit of hope for the world. But I know that's an overblown reaction, but sometimes you're just got to reach.

Yes or No

I wouldn't normally expect the difference between yes and no to be so murky.

That's been my problem for the past few weeks. I couldn't identify this simple difference. Thankfully, the distinction between up and down, left and right and a few other key ones remained intact.

Okay, I'm having a bit of fun with a category mistake. Not so much, yes and no, but good for ya, bad for ya. Perhaps two new words are needed, something snappier than beneficial and detrimental.

My very world has been in jeopardy the past few weeks, my little world fallin apart. Couldn't figure out why. Was it divorce, distance from family, isolation, job, bad diet, lack of intense exercise, bad brain, loss, money, lack of cats, ghosts, lack of sun?

Right now the smart money is that I don't like job! The folks are nice, lots of positives. It's just not a job for me. What was exciting the first couple months were the training classes. I was back in school, sitting in the front row, the guy with the answers.

Once I was installed in my cubicle, I could feel just what a grind this work was. For me, not for everyone. Hell, when I made my first sale for many tens of thousands of dollars, I didn't even yawn. That's not good. Worse, the very aspect of the job that I saw as creative (yes, an accurate description) turns out I didn't like. How very funny.

The good news is that I've allowed myself to be miserable. Misery is an important indicator that something's making you miserable. Once misery prodded me enough, I started checking the list above for a likely culprit. Sure, more than one weepy vector was involved, but the job one was the real ugliness.

I had cautioned myself that with a change of career might result in a bad match initially. That I might have to take a do-over. Or two. Or go back to school. Now that I've recognized that I am bored stiff at my job, I've begun looking for something different. Yesterday, a friend emailed and asked if I was still looking for a gig because her company had a job. A book job. A different friend earlier that day suggested that I consider her book company as a good place to work.

My reaction made it clear to me. I am excited by the book. It's a nutrient filled package that I still love. The trick, if I'm reading everything correctly, is to be able to touch them regularly in my job. My last gig: too far away from them. I really could have been peddling widgets instead. I need to stump for books.

I have an interview tomorrow with a company that I admire, Chronicle Books. I also interviewed for another postion at the Times. At this point, I don't feel excitement for that as I do for the book job. In just a couple day's time, what seemed like a very good alternative, now seems like a drab lifevest. That, I think, is what I've been working and praying for. Have true emotions and then decisions are self-evident.

Even though yes and no throw me, I can tell the difference between relief and excitement. I felt relief at getting hired at the Times, but excitement at the possibility of working for Chronicle Books.

That's my tale of yes and no. It's an obvious part of the learning curve in my world o emotions. Hey, figure out, without using the Ben Franklin close, how to make decisions based on what I feel. On what I feel. Yes or no. Off or on.

Fidgety

Nothing but transitions all the time!

Decided that, yes, it's time to find a new job. It's a long story but I don't have enough passion for it to throw myself into the ad biz. It's that simple. So wish me luck in the finding of the next job! Crap, like I wanted that at the top of my to-do list.

Let me also give you a brief update about the writing. Part of me want to have some slick story to post that would knock you out. That was the VERY optimistic part of me. I knew that this shift would require a lot of trust that, over time, I would figure out how to make stuff up. Ha, funny when I put it that way.

A long white page still commands my respect but not my fear. My first mini-obsession has been about a story of reincarnation gone wrong. It's been too much like a Disney film on acid so far. Cheesy, but I bet I could get Richard Gere to greenlight this baby.

That's the deal: noodle around with the stuff that pops up and see what happens. Robertson Davies said that the origins of one of his novels came from an image of a boy throwing a snowball, that's it. He of course was an accomplished writer and could spot an idea with legs, no matter how insubstantial.

My thinking right now is that I can continue to blog more loosely and write more stuff. Why not? It's a good deal for my brain, which requires a balance of activities. The bloggy is different from the creatin' which is different from the weepy emails that I occasional foist on you all.

So I mentioned figety. Well sure I am. Who really wants to be looking for a job? at any time? But as good a soldier that I am, I somedays could just walk out of where I'm working and think it would be the best move I've made in a while. Phil don't need no toxic organization, he's got a ready supply whenever he needs it. The best thing to come of this is once again a bit more clarity, at least about where I don't want to be. That's pretty good since I thought that there were some marketing things that I'd like to explore. Nope. I don't. I'd rather weld or shuck corn. Quite a surprise!

So when you're driving in the countryside on your next weekend jaunt, if you spot a wiry corn-shucking madman at a produce stand, it will not be me. I hope that I'll be the planning manager at Roadside Stands Inc that realized that the mad shucker position would increase sales by 15% per annum.

I hope you all have a wonderful week!


.