Movin' on Up

I like friends. I like friends at work. I don't like leaving friends. I don't like leaving friends from work.


I don't like change. Alas, change is inevitable. 


Peak season at Amazon was craziness. We hired on hundreds of new employees, some of whom I became friends with. Just tonight the last one of the temporary group was laid off. I am truly saddened. He was such a sweet guy and I also hate to think what his financial situation will be now. He has 5 kids at home and a wife who is disabled. Why do things like this happen to the best employees? He was always here late, taking care of the associates under his charge. It almost makes me want to cry. Unfortunately there is nothing I can do about the situation, so crying is nonsensical. 


Tonight is also my last Saturday night to work. I'll work Wednesday through Friday night next week and then start my new job at one of our sister buildings on Monday. In the four short months I've been at IND5, I have made countless friends and formed close relationships with many coworkers. The only reason I am leaving is because our shifts are consolidating, meaning my position is being eliminated. When I first heard the news, I was slightly upset. I had just started and now I'm being handed a severance package?! Now what do I do? Nothing against working for my family, but it doesn't pay the bills and it doesn't offer benefits... which I dreadfully need. 


Looking back on the experience, I realize I went through the Five Stages of Grief in a two week span. The night I found out I could be losing my job I was fine, because I was denying the circumstances. The next night however, I began to get angry, wanting to know why they were making this decision. Then came the bargaining: "Can I stay at the building and do a different job?". Finally came the tears and depression finally realizing I would not be able to stay with my myriad of friends at IND5. THAT was a tough stage. I think I'm in the acceptance stage now, but I am still not excited about the pending changes.


It does make you feel good when you announce your departure and it is met with unanimous sadness and pleas that you stay. 


Yes, it is a promotion. Yes, I will make more money. Yes, it will give me more experience. But I am stubborn and don't want to mess up a good thing. So sue me. I'm going to miss my buddies!

Where the Boys Are

If you pay any attention to the colloquy in global news, you have no doubt heard of the fatal cruise ship tragedy off the coast of Italy. The Costa Concordia ran aground on well charted rocks and partially sank on January 13, 2012. 11 are confirmed dead and 21 are still missing of the almost 4,200 passengers and crew who were on board. Of course with the centennial anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic rapidly approaching, there are many comparisons being made between the two ill fated vessels. 

One glaringly obvious disparity is the behavior of the victims of each disaster. Granted not much is known about the final moments and initial reactions to the Titanic's demise, but there is enough evidence to know that chivalry is dying if not dead. 

The first scandal came when the Coast Guard caught the Costa Concordia's captain,  Francesco Schettino, fleeing the ship while passengers and crew were still fearfully attempting to evacuate the precariously perched pinnace. He and his first officer were arrested on preliminary charges of manslaughter and abandoning ship. It seems like a fairly accepted principle that the captain of the ship goes down with the ship. There are reports of the Titanic's captain, Edward Smith, standing at the wheel while his craft slipped into the Atlantic. Other people say he was on the deck encouraging his crew and aiding with the loading of the lifeboats. However it happened, he undoubtedly displayed unparalleled bravery and honor in the face of imminent death. Captain Schettino, on the other hand, got the H-E-double hockey sticks out of dodge with no regard for the 4,200 other lives for whom he was responsible. Making the situation worse, Schettino wasn't taking a course guided by the state of the art navigation system. He had turned it off and was going by sight alone. The alarms that should have sounded to alert him the ship was off course were silenced by his egotistical attempt at piloting the 114,137 ton vessel "intuitively". He had, of course, done this "at least three, maybe four times in the past", so he was nothing less than a bona fide professional. 

The second story coming out of the mess is the decorum of the male passengers and crew. The Titanic was famous for enforcing the "women and children first" etiquette when it came to boarding the life boats. The numbers speak for themselves: more third class women survived than first class men. 97% of first class women made it to life boats. It was an honor for these men to step aside and let their wives and children safely float away from the doomed liner. This does not mean they did it without fear, but courage is standing in the face of what scares you and acting as if it is a privilege to endure the terror. They acted like MEN. Now fast forward 100 years to the Costa Concordia. In true 21st century, pusillanimous, coddled form, the men aboard the sinking ship scrambled to be the first in the lifeboats. Women have recounted being shoved and pushed aside as men abandoned all dignity in order to save themselves. 

Where have all the men gone? No one teaches their boys to open the door for a woman, to stand when she leaves the table, to treat females with respect. You'd be lucky to find a 25 year old who does not spend at least one day a week playing hours of mind numbing, gory video games. 25 year olds in 1912? Usually married with several children and working to make ends meet. They were most definitely not sitting at home leeching off their moms and working as a minimum wage "sandwich artist" at Subway. It pains me to no end to know that my chances of finding an actual man and not a boy playing dress up in a suit are growing slimmer with each passing year. Apparently there were mostly boys on the Costa Concordia. And unfortunately it seems that men, like the Titanic, are slowly disappearing with time. 

Let Me Call You Sweetheart

On March 18, 2010, I bookmarked the following in my Google Reader:

*le happy sigh* :)

Rear-view Mirrors

I've started writing this post several times now and I can never think of the right way to word it. So in all my fumbling, there will somehow arise a blog. Whether or not it means anything to anyone else other than myself does not matter.


One question I've been constantly asking myself recently is "Why do people do the things they do?" What makes an idea worth trying or a risk worth taking? 


I've done things that I look at and think, "Was I even equipped with functioning mental capacities at the time? Why did I think this was ok and why did I continue?" Too many times my emotions are faster than my brain. Even when I am conscious of the fact that what I am doing is questionable, my emotions are faster than the thought process of "stop doing that, you idiot". And once you pop, you just can't stop. 


I've known for years that I have an addictive personality, the problem is I have no way of predicting what my vice will be at a given time. For a while last year it was Wendy's chili and a baked potato. Once it was watching every episode of Law and Order SVU that I could fit on the DVR. For too long my addiction was working out for a minimum of four hours every night. Talk about fun times. Oh, and who can forget the other obsessive behaviors that are too embarrassing to cite? I have no idea how my family put up with me for all those years. I probably would have strangled me. No, I KNOW I would have strangled me.


How do I get myself into these situations? I must have an unknown propensity for adventurous affairs. But then, why do I STAY in these situations? That's a question 6 years overdue. I knew how to stop and openly admitted I needed to, but when it came down to the follow through? Nonexistent. The absurdity of it all is that there was no glorious moment where it all made sense and I repented of my ways and made things right. Too easy. In my experience you don't learn if you don't suffer. 


So I continue to blunder through hoping that the choices I make in the future won't screw me up as much as the ones I've already made. I look forward to the day when the reflection I see in my rear-view mirror isn't one of regret and sadness. But that will take time that has not been granted me yet. Until then, in the Crowder famous words, "I'm doing the best I can, sir".

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

I want to pick up and move to a foreign country. I want to go to Australia or Dubai or anywhere and teach English. Leave with no real plan and enjoy the ride. 


Considering I had my entire apartment mentally furnished 3 months before I moved out, stepping out with no thoughts as to how I will provide for myself scares me immensely. But it is also exciting at the same time. I could save up a lot of money and come home in a year better off financially than if I had stayed in the states and worked for 2 years. Not to mention it would be an experience I've never had before. 


There is nothing stopping me... I have no significant other, kids or real responsibilities. I could just quit my job (even though I do enjoy where I work and with whom I work) and move to another country. Make it up as I go. Meet people in the local market. Work in a cafe while I travel. Learn a new language. Try new foods and customs. 


All I need is the plane ticket.

Plans vs. Reality

You would think that after being on the earth for almost 23 years I would eventually stop being surprised by the way God works. You would think. But as impressive as the human brain and capacities are, we are incredibly dull beings. Our ability to dream is limitless, but our ability to believe? Minuscule. Even after writing that last sentence, I am struggling to put into words what I mean by it. But I don't want to take it out. It fits.

Kids have no problem believing the things they are told. Like every other child who has ever ridden a bike, I fell off once, embedding pebbles and dirt into my knees and elbows. Since I have such loving older brothers, they told me they would need to amputate to prevent infection. I still get made fun of for cautiously saying, "Fection?! I don't want no fection!!" and the petrified look I wore on my face as my mom cleaned out the wounds. 

Until the idea in our head becomes a reality, it is just a dream, a delusion. No matter how much you believe in it. I could (and did) believe with all my heart that my elaborate plans in high school would come true, but that didn't stop them from crumbling in a matter of seconds.

If you were to ask me in elementary how I thought my life would play out, I would have looked at you blankly and gone off to send Ken and Barbie on their honeymoon. I didn't care. As long as I lived with mommy and daddy and Mittens never ran away. And I could have peanut butter and jelly for lunch. And Cheetos. 

If you were to ask me in high school how I thought my life would play out, I would have told you step by step what was going to happen, whom I would be with, what I would be wearing and the name of our great-grandkids. That plan was engraved in my mind and there were no plausible alternatives. It was the perfect plan so why wouldn't or couldn't it work?

If you were to ask me in college how I thought my life would play out, I would have burst into tears and used your sleeve as a handkerchief. Never had I ever felt so hopeless and disoriented. What was my new plan? Live at home and mooch off the parents? Move out and ruin my life by choosing a variety of mistakes to follow? I was literally trapped inside myself. I had no chance for plans. Even if I dreamed of one day finally breaking free of my self imposed prison, I had too many barriers to cross and those dreams would dissolve without much trouble. Reality is relentless. My plans were to live to see the next day.

If you were to ask me today how I thought my life would play out, I'd smile and say, "The way it's supposed to". I don't have long term plans right now. I'm taking each day as it comes. Meeting people. Trying things. Making mistakes. Enjoying life. I do my best to not put a timeline on myself. What good would that do other than to add unneeded stress? I am too good at stressing myself out the way it is. I'm not going to worry about whether the next person I meet will land me my dream job or if the guy I talk to in line at Starbucks is my future husband. 

If my plans from any other stage in life had worked out like I thought, I would not be blessed to be where I am today. The knowledge that I would have missed out on even one part of this stage in life makes the purgatory I lived in for too long, bearable. People I currently count among my closet friends would be nonexistent. That is enough to make me grateful for the pain that brought them into my life. Though I never could fathom ever saying this, I am glad my plans fell apart. My reality is better than I ever dreamed.

Blue Eyed Girls

Several years ago I read the book The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Yes, it was in Oprah's Book Club, but I didn't know that at the time. It just looked like an interesting read. The basic premise is a little black girl in 1940s Ohio and how different she is compared to her white classmates. She goes home every night and prays, asking God to give her blue eyes so she will be pretty like the other girls. Of course, no matter how hard she prays, her eyes remain dark brown and she is continually insulted and ridiculed for her looks. 

This always made me wonder why it was that human nature craves what it can never physically possess. Whether it be blue eyes instead of brown or to be taller or shorter, we never stop wishing for that "something else". Modern science and technology has made it possible to change some of these wants. Now you can grow longer eyelashes, get a bigger or smaller chest just by swiping a credit card or reform an entire face into a designer model.

But why? Why do we feel the compulsive need to change ourselves? No matter who you are or what you look like, there is always something about yourself you would like to change if you could. It doesn't even have to be a physical trait. People wish to be funnier, less sensitive to criticism or to be freed from crippling depression.

Oh, there's always the bandages you can slap on to fix the problem for the time being... antidepressants, plastic surgery, copious amounts of food, alcohol. It's a Russian Roulette of vices. 

That still leaves the question of why humans are diametrically opposed to what they have inherited. Is it the allure of the new and exciting? Is it jealousy of what we do not and cannot have? Why do we go to such lengths to achieve these ideals? No matter how many PSAs or commercials from Dove are made saying that you are beautiful regardless of race, size or ethnicity, people will always crave that which they cannot obtain. 




*UPDATE*
The very same day I wrote this post, I saw this article on the internet: http://www.neatorama.com/2011/11/05/laser-turns-brown-eyes-blue/