6/28/2018

In the midst of everything yesterday I found myself wondering why I am here. I know why, on many levels, but I have this constant doubt. But then I went to meet Utah friends in Midtown and riding the train were these two lovely young men, doing a routine. Their introduction almost sounded like spoken word poetry, with parts in unison, encouraging positivity, asking for smiles. Anyone who was smiling, like myself, got a fist bump. They each did a dance routine. The first guy did a lot of fancy footwork, which was unfortunate because I couldn’t see his feet through all the people. He then did a bunch of tricks with his cap, which was fun. Then the second guy (fist bump guy) did gymnastics with the pole off the ceiling. I tried to get pics of that, it was great. As I gave them money I encouraged them to work on more spoken word performance for their act.

And that’s why New York City.  A really great act in the middle of a commute.

So, I pulled out of Maricopa, and I’m about to pull out of Texas. I spoke with the staffing agent today about the testing tomorrow. Like last time once I’m done with the testing I MIGHT get an interview with the hiring personnel. Then I might get an offer. For a temp job. I didn’t fully understand this was a temp job, but it’s okay, because it should be temp to hire. She said that once they make an offer they like to start all new hires on the same date for training, so that’s probably a date in the future and since this weekend is considered a holiday weekend nothing is likely to happen next week. I am getting a little panicky about moving at the end of July without a healthy series of pay stubs. And all of this wait for one job? Aren’t there more? Two agencies and both want to send me to the same place and nowhere else? Whatever happened to the third? What is happening? All of my eggs are in one basket.

Breathe.

I also am one of those people whose identity is focused on their work, so not working gets in the way of my identity. I feel unmoored here, until I have a job to anchor me.

Breathe.

I heard today that they are not continuing the Theatre for Community Health position or program. I thought that might happen. Sindecuse was already in the midst of making drastic cuts. They are looking for a “community director” for Risky Business. Sad, but the program wasn’t getting much support, either, or at least not the support it deserved.

So, I am existing in a liminal space. A space of in between. Of waiting. Waiting to hear. Waiting to move. Waiting to flourish. We all have liminal spaces, airports, waiting rooms, places where we exist between one thing and another. New York City is a liminal space on many levels. As I walk through the streets, waiting for my new life to begin on a financial level, wondering what I will become and what I can achieve, I am in a place of transition. And that’s okay. It has to be.

Breathe.

Society tells me that I am not supposed to be in such an upheaval at this point in my life. I am to be settled, with possessions. In my anxiety I spend money shopping. I feel the need to collect possessions to assuage the fear. But I don’t have any room! And I don’t have any income. Therefore, this is a very poor tactic. I am fighting society’s expectations. Mine own are more demanding. But it’s always hard to push back against the boundaries other people place on you.

Yesterday I met with two people who were a few years behind me in my undergraduate program. Now Facebook friends, I “see” them frequently, but have not met in person with one, Mary, since last living in NYC 18 years ago, and the other, Spencer since Salt Lake City – 32 years ago. We met in a surprisingly large Mexican restaurant on West 36th between Fifth and Sixth that was so good. Habenero Blues. As we caught up on the last three decades, I reflected on the layers time puts on us. I could see these people as they were 30 years ago, and as they are now. The faces are just as present with a filter scars and wrinkles overlaid. We started doing the thing – whatever happened to…? Each forgotten name brought a remembered story to mind. Claudia is still with Larry and does massage, I must check her out. Who’s still in Utah, in New York? Who is still alive and who has passed. Thank God for Facebook or we’d have no idea.

On the way home there was a moment on 145th street: I was looking down and I saw the rump of a dog heavily sniffing the sparse greenery at the base of a tree. Then the dog turned and looked at me, it was some sort of bulldog with the most adorable face and my glance ran up the leash to meet the eye of the owner who smiled in recognition of the joy his dog brought me and he winked. I love those moments.

As I’ve mentioned before I have many chapters and each chapter I consider a “life”. For an hour or so reliving the Utah life through reminiscence appeased the anxiety of the transition. Although, having resisted the urge for three days to go to Lord & Taylor’s for a summer suit the proximity of this meeting gave me the perfect opportunity, and I succumbed. Which, in the end, might be a good thing as the suit I ordered online is delayed. So, I am all set for this testing – hopefully interview – tomorrow. Once again brushing up my PowerPoint and Excel. Until then…

Breathe.


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