Not on MY planet........

 

They’re all around us. And as I’ve gotten older, they seem to seek me out for some reason.

Lucky me.

Let me explain.

I worked for someone once who wouldn’t talk to any of his staff on the phone…..and we all worked remotely.  At home. And, as in any job, I often had questions that needed to be answered in order to accomplish what this man gave me to do. Questions only he could answer. So, I emailed him.

I waited for a response, twiddling my thumbs, essentially dead in the water of tasks undone.

I texted him, thinking maybe the vibration of his phone would spur him on….or whatever. (I don’t like to think about that one too long.)

And I waited some more. Nothing. Customers would get irritated, although my laundry was done and my cats were (over)fed.

I emailed again. You know how you begin to think that the first email was circling, higher and higher, in cyberspace, and would never make it through all those storage clouds, getting misfiled somewhere, never to be seen again? So you forward your original email to its recipient all over again, hoping for better results this time.

Nope. My boss was AWOL. Often. For days.

Until he wanted something from us, his separated staff. He still wouldn’t call us, but he’d email and then apparently he sat staring at the screen.

Five minutes later, his second email would ding into the virtual mailbox: “I would appreciate it if you would monitor your emails more closely. Please be professional and respond…..immediately!”

He really said that.

And there it is. The proof that there are people who do not live in the same reality as we do. Their behavior is so bizarre, so illogical, so irrational that it is inexplicable. And to try to make sense of it only makes US as crazy as they are. I'm not sure on exactly which planet they live on, but it's not anywhere in THIS universe.

These are the folks who seem to dog me. I had two in my life at the same time recently, which must have been a test of some kind, the universe poking me with a sharp stick as sport. Fun, huh?

But what I have come to understand is that we can’t waste time with these people or energy trying to figure them out. They will not change, because they think they are RIGHT and the rest of the world is WRONG. The definition of the word “ego” is etched on their soul. I spent a year in therapy trying to explain one of these people to my logical self, until I had a stern talk with the person in the mirror…… and gave up trying to make sense of the nonsensical. Therapy came to a screeching halt.

If only they weren’t so good at hiding all that craziness, we could pick them out earlier. But, what I’ve learned is to let them go on their way, lurching and chattering to themselves. It’s the only sensible—and sane--thing to do. We don’t need to help them populate their reality, wherever that is.

 

“If you're rational you don't get to believe whatever you want to believe.”
― Michael Huemer

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can but I don't want to......

I can hit a softball pretty good.

I can shoot a basketball and get it near the net at least.

I can organize and pull off an event, from a parent's sports meeting to a church social and everyone will have a great time.

I can park outside a VERY large discount store that sounds like an amusement park and walk all the way to the back to buy, well, whatever they sell back there in the mists.

But I don't want to.

And by the time one reaches my age, we have the right to say that. No excuses, no diversionary tactics, no verbal deflections. Simply, "I don't want to do that."

We no longer have much to prove to others, or, perhaps more importantly, to ourselves. I know my strengths, and I got to be a master at them. Sometimes I still even enjoy participating in the activity once it starts, but the planning, the internal stress, the snafus that always happen, I don't miss those at all.

So, I step aside and let the younger folks knock themselves out. I sit in my hot tub, or go dancing, or sit on the dock and watch the clouds pass by overhead in the sky. I'll be glad to offer my advice, if I am asked, but other than that, I have better things to do.....or not. The choice is mine.

I also shop at stores that only park about 20 vehicles.

Fire on the keyboard......

I used to exist in a perpetual state of outrage. There is so much injustice slapping us around on a daily basis, and the world can be a cold, heartless place. My letters to the editor of whatever publication I was nearest at the time were filled with pleas to City Hall, our legislators, even the dog catcher if he got out of line. No one was safe from my scathing keyboard.


I am still a believer in the power of the individual. And, as a teacher, I passed that torch to teenagers who struggled with the same kinds of feelings I had, but they had no clue how to make themselves heard. They know now.

But I don't get too involved any more in the daily turning of the planet. My shoulders are worn down from all the burdens I carried for myself as well as others, and I have to say that I don't see that much has improved during my lifetime of speaking out. So, today I write creatively and professionally, and I dance. Those of you who are regular followers of my journey know that I'm happier for it, too. The aging process tends to mellow us out a bit, and provides some perspective in many ways.

But every one in a while, something happens that really smacks me between the eyes. And I can't stay silent.

A young woman I know was recently told by her employer (who was also supposedly a friend) that the business had to cut back. No surprises there. Millions of folks are in the same situation, laid off through no fault of their own, put out on the street to line up, applications in hand, to compete for very few job openings. I've been there, and you probably have, too.


But this employer took a despicable action to prevent the employees from filing unemployment. They are kept on the company's books with the designation "as needed." And ever since this young woman has been "as needed," which has been over three months, she hasn't been needed once. Not once. She has really been laid off, but is being prevented from filing for some help while she looks for work in a damaged economy. Is it any wonder cities across this country are being occupied?

My daughter was laid off yesterday, too. She has been working one full time job and two part time jobs to make ends meet, and has been happy to do so. She grew up watching me work from before dawn until I literally couldn't stand up any more, and has inherited that work horse gene.

She lost the full time job yesterday, but she filed for unemployment before the sun went down.  That's the way it's supposed to work, and it's what we pay taxes for.

But the other young woman is sinking fast. Her "employer" won't release her, so she can't file for help. Get a lawyer, some folks advise. And pay them with what?

My keyboard is  on fire again.

How do people like that sleep at night?

Delay in justice is injustice.

Time as cash.....

My dance instructor keeps me talking as we dance. Of course, anyone who knows me also knows that I have no problem talking--to anyone. Anywhere. About anything.

But he does it to keep me from overthinking where my feet are supposed to be going. I am not a naturally rhythmic person and this is hard work for me. And don't expect my arms and my feet to go in two different directions......PLEASE. He knows this, so we talk.

One of our conversations the other day led me to reflect on the concept of how much our time is worth. My instructor and I both facilitate group sessions with people, albeit in totally diverse topics, and occasionally all our prep work to plan a session is fruitless. No one shows up. Or a session is on a Saturday or other generally unscheduled day and as the presentor I HOPE that no one shows up. (I can't speak for him on that one, but I'll ask him the next time we're waltzing.)

When no one shows, we probably don't get paid. But if I'm all set up for folks to gather and I'm hoping merely to pack back up and go home, that means something: There are other significant ways to place value on my time.

And as I get older, I'm finding the alternate price tags we assign some blocks of our time are just as valuable, if not more so. Do I really need to schedule six trainings this week when it will leave me exhausted and depleted, unable to enjoy the seventh unencumbered day? There's barely time to catch up with normal things like laundry as it is. (I started to add cleaning, too, but all my friends and family would shriek with laughter at that reference....better I just not mention it.) Plus, my current car runs fine, even if it is five years old. Do I really need a new one?

I value time to do nothing if I choose. And please don't interpret that to mean that someone else pays my bills while I'm cloud-watching. No one does, and no one has for the majority of my adult life. I have simply learned that  if I'm hoping no one attends one of my seminars, even if that means my income is lower, then my time has taken on a richer, more meaningful texture. I have matured to the point that I recognize and accept that.

Now...shall we dance?

We don't want your job....

Age discrimination exists. I know you've heard that before, but until it personally slaps you in the face, it is only hearsay.

When I turned 50, I had had enough of entertaining (or not) middle schoolers all day. Fifteen years was my limit for people ignoring me and parents telling their kids they didn't have to do anything I told them to do. (The kids, not the parents. And yes, a parent told their child that at a conference I had requested to find a way to control their darling in class so I could actually TEACH.)

So, I decided to find another way to make a living. I reasoned, "I have a decade of experience in the business world, then 15 years in a classroom. Surely, those are marketable skills....somewhere." And off I went, sending out resumes and answering classified ads. Of course, like any sane person, I kept teaching in the meantime, anxiously opening my mailbox each evening as my patience wore thinner and thinner, hoping to find a positive response happily jumping around in there until I came home to find it.

Sometimes I actually got a chance to meet in person about a job posted somewhere. Have you ever had the experience of being interviewed by someone who is at least 3 decades younger than you? (They actually look like they're in the teens, but everyone looks younger as we get older, so we do have to factor THAT into the equation, too.) To say it is challenging is being polite, as they chew their gum and twirl their hair and ask "Like, tell me about yourself, 'k?"

The result of all those resumes and interviews was another year in the classroom, watching the months tick by and my sanity become even more compromised. This was before the economy took a slide into oblivion, so it wasn't that I was joining millions of folks doing the same thing. I just wanted to make a living doing something else, I had good experience and a college degree, and my work ethic is daunting.

The result? No job offers. I was "overqualified" or they decided to "go a different way in their job search." Or, even worse (I think), no response at all to my contact with their company. I came to the conclusion that I scared these youngsters. They probably thought that I wanted their job and had the ability to jerk it away from them fairly quickly. If they let me in the door. Which they were quick to slam in my face, collectively, about 5 or 6 times a week.

Little did they know that their jobs were safe from the likes of me. Every job I've ever had morphed into a supervisory position once those in the upper offices realized who they had. Someone who could do it. Whatever "it" turned out to be. But, with that responsibility came the headaches, the long days and nights of backbreaking work, and the lack of appreciation for all of the above. 

All I wanted at 50 was to show up on time, do my job to the absolute best of my ability (well, OK, maybe 110%, I can't change my personality THAT much), go home on time, pay my bills, and enjoy my quiet life. They would still get more for their money than what they had, I was sure, but I just wasn't into climbing the corporate ladder any more. That ladder was now stowed in my dark garage closet, gathering dust and cobwebs. I wasn't going to pull it out suddenly to tell them how to improve what they were doing.

Believe me.......'K?

The years teach much which the days never knew.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson