It's been 53 days since I got laid off. In that time, I've wrapped
and unwrapped gifts for the holidays, gone to Las Vegas
Mostly, I've applied for jobs.
As if my life depended upon it. Which it really doesn't. I could
freelance for a living; lots of my fellow writers and editors do just that.
Forgive me then, my compadres, when I say what I am going to say next:
Freelancing doesn't feel like work to me. Perhaps it's the solitary nature of
the job, or the feast or famine nature of the compensation, or the commute to
work that begins and ends in my living room.
Or maybe I simply identify with poet Donald Hall when he says in
the very first line of Life Work: “I
have never worked a day in my life.”
And not in a good way.
The Pride of the Peacock
I want a real job. This is what I am thinking at yoga class
on Sunday. My shoulders are tight, and I remember what my yoga guru always
tells me, that we carry the expectations of others between our shoulder blades.
I smile as I settle my forearms onto the floor for the dolphin series that is
supposed to prepare us for Mayurasana,
better known as the peacock pose. The only pose I hate more than dolphin is
peacock.
As far as I know, I am not so worried about the expectations of
others, as I have enough to handle with my own. I carry my stress in my
shoulders the way others carry stress in their temples or their lower backs.
The weight of my world is on my shoulders—and the postures that challenge
my shoulders are the ones I struggle with the most. Holding myself up by my
forearms alone puts enormous pressure on my shoulders—and my feelings of
self-worth.
I make it through the class—just barely—and leave with the
realization that my peacock needs work, on and off the mat. William Blake said that “The pride of the peacock
is the glory of God.”
I go home, make a pot of coffee, and work on my new novel.
And apply for jobs.
The Year of Giving Continues….
Day 24 of 365
I sent an autographed copy of my memoir Fixing Freddie to Ilana Krebs, daughter of my good friend and
fellow writer Gary Krebs. Enjoy, Ilana!
Day 25 of 365
I gave my BFF John K. Waters my beloved Edgar Allan Poe bobble head,
which I got as a favor at a Edgar Awards dinner for Mystery Writers of America
a couple of years ago, and kept pristinely in the box ever since. You can take
it out of the box, John.
Day 26 of 365
A writer friend serving in Afghanistan
Day 27 of 365
My cousin Did emailed me, telling me how much he enjoyed Fixing
Freddie, and telling me a bit about his life. We have been out of touch for
decades, but thanks to the gift of facebook we’re back in contact—and have discovered
a mutual interest in Buddhism and yoga. I’m
sending him a copy of my latest book,
5-Minute Mindfulness.
Day 28 of 365
My next-door neighbor Steve, who lost his house in Hurricane Irene
earlier this year, came by to check on his lot, where he is rebuilding. I gave
him lemonade and homemade brownies straight from the oven.
Day 29 of 365
Today we gave the dogs a bath. Our big shaggy mutt Shakespeare,
whom we adopted from a Las Vegas
Day 30 of 365
Today I took Shakespeare to see our wonderful vet, Dr. Barrow, who
confirmed what we had suspected: Shakespeare has cancer, and there’s not much
to be done about it given his advanced age. I bought red wine and chocolate and
invited my friend Susan Reynolds over, and gave myself a pity party.
It’s the last day of January, and I am giving myself the morning to
write. No applying for jobs today, as I have a two-hour follow-up interview for
a fine position this afternoon. Wish me luck.
