Throwback Thursday

One of my favorite parts of working at One Life to Live in the last bunch of years that I was there was my job's combination of production and editing. In a given week, I would spend several days in the studio, working on the show as it was shot, and on the remaining days, I would edit shows, create edited playbacks, and screen shows for air. While all the parts of my job dealt with the same show, my roles were as different as night and day. On a studio day, I would be surrounded by people, and I would talk almost constantly in the process of getting what we wanted. On an edit day, I might spend hours alone, tweaking and figuring, before finally showing my work to a producer. It was a lovely combination, in which I could escape from chaos, and then run right back to it, all in the name of doing my job. It satisfied both the people skills and the figure it out alone parts of me. And while it was a combination I may never have in a work environment again, I see glimpses of it as I navigate, once again, through the combination of parenthood and job search that I'm facing now.
 
Parenthood and employment, I suppose, can always be a challenging combination. The restraint that you may have to exercise at work faces the "get messy" attitude you may need at home. The focus on your own accomplishments at work gives way to a focus on your children's accomplishments at home. Today, however, as I immersed myself in the needs of kids, putting my own job search needs on hold till tomorrow, I felt that dichotomy I once felt at One Life to Live--a fairly complete studio focus on my studio days, and a complete edit focus on my edit ones. A realization that the two things might have to work together, but the pleasure of sometimes being able to focus on them separately.
 
It is unlikely that I will ever find a work situation like my One Life one again. But my current in-between situation reminds me how important it is to give the separate parts of my life the time and attention they each deserve. While one may inform another, as the studio days and the edit days once did, each deserves a singular focus, at least some of the time, and I am learning how to give them that.
 
Who knows how long it will be until my balance shifts again--we don't always know when things will change. In the meantime, I am trying to embrace this current dichotomy, and give both parts of my current daily job as much attention as I can.

Well-Healed

This is not auto-correct, or lack thereof. While the term usually refers to shoes, or to whatever makes a person look put together, I'm talking about a different kind of healing. For, you see, it used to be enough to have Bandaids, antibacterial wipes, and a little antibiotic ointment on hand. These days, healing takes a little more creativity...
 
1. Not just Bandaids, but Bandaids with faces. Why just cover a mishap when you can let it make you chuckle at the same time?
 
2. Time away--whether by genuine distance or simply by a small change in routine. Sometimes just a few steps away can have tremendous healing powers.
 
3. Choosing "yes." For reasons of money, time, calories, or all of the above, we say "no" to ourselves on a regular basis. What if, once in a while, we say "yes?"
 
4. Letting "feel good" sometimes be more important than "look good." It may not always be realistic to face the world in our pajamas, but allowing ourselves to dress how we feel can have enormous restorative powers.
 
5. Turning to the "doctors" in our lives. Our family members and friends may not have medical degrees, but on a good day, or even in just a tiny moment, they can often heal us better than the physician we visit, and without the need to make an appointment.
 
Sometimes, we all need a little healing, the kind that even the best-stocked first aid kit can't offer. As prepared as we may be to help others, it's not always easy to take care of ourselves. But if and when we do, we will likely find ourselves not just well-heeled, but well-healed. And far more ready to face the world that lies ahead.

It's Really Okay

It's okay not to have all the answers...as long as you're still asking the questions.
 
It's okay not to say "yes" all the time...as long as you say "yes" when it matters.
 
It's okay to go to bed early...as long as you make the most of the hours before you do.
 
It's okay to reach high...as long as you support yourself in case you wobble.
 
It's okay to step back...as long as it's just to get a better view.
 
It's okay to speak up...as long as you have something worth saying.
 
It's okay to say nothing...as long as you listen to what's around you.
 
It's okay to wait...as long as you don't wait too long.
 
It's okay to jump in...as long as the waters seem safe.
 
It's okay to walk...as long as you don't forget how to run.
 
It's okay to say "please"...as long as you're not always waiting for permission.
 
It's okay to be cautious...as long as cautious doesn't mean paralyzed.
 
It's okay to fail...as long as you still aim to succeed.

Wait A Minute

Life seems to be full of waiting--waiting for buses, waiting for a free shower, waiting for a response--the list could go on. And if you are a person who likes things to happen, waiting can be debilitating. You can't force a cake to bake faster. You can't make someone else make a decision. So, often, waiting is just inevitable, right?
 
What I am finding, in a time when waiting--for just about everything--could wipe me out, is that waiting for some things does not have to mean waiting for everything. Perhaps we can't eat the cake now, but we can clear away the extra ingredients and tools to make room for it. Maybe we can't force a response to come, but we can keep sending questions into the world so that there are more places from which a response might come. We still have to wait our turn, wait on line, wait it out, but we can do while we are waiting. And doing is worthwhile, whether it prepares us, or entertains us, or simply keeps us occupied while we wait.
 
Wait a minute? We all probably wait far more than a minute on a very regular basis. But when we choose to use our waiting time, rather than simply wring our hands through it, a minute, and even more, can go quickly, so that before we know it, we are moving, and succeeding, and eating cake as we go.

The Spending of Days

You can spend your days just looking, but you may not find.
 
You can spend your days asking, but you may not be answered.
 
You can spend your days thinking, but the ideas you want to have may take more than just thought.
 
You can spend your days watching, but do you really see?
 
You can spend your days hoping, but what if hope is just all talk?
 
You can spend your days talking, but to whom, and for what?
 
You can spend your days alone, but can you do what you want alone?
 
You can spend your days finding, sometimes with help.
 
You can spend your days asking, starting with questions that can actually be answered.
 
You can spend your days putting thoughts into action.
 
You can spend your days seeing, so that you can really understand.
 
You can spend your days turning hope into reality.
 
You can spend your days talking to people who care.
 
You can spend your days realizing that you are not alone, that there is hope, and that with hope, there can be action.

Re-Invention

I have been using the words "re-inventing myself" a lot lately. It seems to be a more sophisticated version of "deciding what I wanna be when I grow up." The thing is, when I say it, I expect that people will be curious, or surprised, or perhaps a little concerned or sympathetic. But these days, the reaction I'm getting isn't any of those things. What I am hearing, over and over, is "well, we all re-invent ourselves every day, don't we?" I guess I'm not the only one experiencing change.
 
Perhaps it used to be that a life that stayed relatively the same was the norm. A person might get married, or have children, but while these changes were happening, that person's job or mission would stay the same. These days, as I try to find (and re-find) myself, and what it is I was meant to do (which, some days, is as specific as "work in children's television" and other days is as general as "work"), I am realizing that re-invention does happen over and over. As I tell my story, I see that re-invention seems to have become the new norm.
 
So, how do we re-invent on a regular basis, but still hold on to some kind of concept of ourselves, and maintain some kind of living that recognizes our level of experience? If I had all those answers, believe me, I'd share them. If I have learned anything at all, it's that re-invention takes a lot of help along the way. But for now, I'm still in the inventing lab of life, working on my next big thing, waiting for the "aha" moment, or the perfect solution, or simply the pieces that will finally--well, at least for a moment in time--fit together.

Banging On Doors, Looking in Windows

Many days, I spend a lot of time banging on doors. After all, that's pretty much what applying for jobs is. You stand outside, pulling out all the stops you know how, to try to get someone to open the door to a place you can't even see because you are standing outside the solid door. Though you may be eager for the door to open so that you can get in, often you don't even really know what you will find on the other side. You just know that it is a door you've heard you should want to get through.

Sometimes, however, you have the opportunity to look in a window. Instead of banging on a door, unsure if anyone will answer, and unclear about what will happen if someone does, you get to observe what is going on inside. There is no guarantee--none at all--that you will be invited in, but for a short time, you can see what it is you think you might want to be in on. You can observe how it is done, perhaps get answers to your questions, all without having to bang and wonder. All the banging in the world might leave you tired, no more informed, and no closer to having the door open, but a few hours looking through a window can at least allow you to see what might (or might not) be worth getting in for.

The banging on doors will likely continue--that's just part of our daily journey. But if we can spend a little more time looking in windows, and really learning from what we see, we'll be a lot more likely to walk through the doors of the places where we're really meant to be.