“I hate being an INFJ”
No I don’t, I love it.
“Don’t be bored”
If you are, this is all I’ve got for you. You might be more excited to go here.
“Pondering face”
Hmmmm…
“Sheryl get naked”
I honestly have no idea why this led someone here.
“West Virginia mountain mama”
Someone in Lithuania continues to search for this repeatedly. Sorry that THIS is all I’ve got.
“Best traits in men”
Best? No. Worst? Yes.
Shut up. Shut UP.
I really love my Macbook. It’s black and sleek and has never, ever let me down. It is why this blog is possible. It is my portal to the outside world. It is my Craigslist housing connection. It is the reason I have found oh-so-appropriate gems like this.
But then I saw this.
And I was consumed with such longing. It’s so… THIN. And light! And, AND! It has a backlit keyboard, which is something that I have wished for forever.
But more than jealousy, I am filled with pride. I mean, I am an Apple girl. This is the same kind of pride that I felt when I first saw this, and realized, “THAT’S TOTALLY MY CAR.” That’s exactly what I do every morning to start it, too.
And just so we’re clear, the moment that they start making the iPhone in leopard print, I’m pouncing.
The first and only job interview I have ever had was in high school. I was late to my meeting at Blockbuster, and when the interviewer asked, “What quality would you most highly value in a manager?” I responded, “Someone who is totally understanding of my life, like today, when I was late.”
Needless to say, I never got a call-back. My “extra discount on previously-viewed VHS” dreams never came true.
Since that day, I have never had a formal job interview. As I previously stated here, I have never even had to apply for jobs – they have simply been handed to me by grown-ups who have taken a liking to me, for one reason or another. I’ve had positions created specifically for me. I’ve had some great jobs at some fun places that have allowed me to wear jeans to work. And I’ve rewarded their wardrobe-leniency by doing, if I may be so bold, a killer job at whatever task they’ve given me. We’ve had an understanding, my places of employment and me. It has been simple, easy, beautiful.
But all dreams must end. Every man, woman, and child will one day reach the moment when they must become an adult, and join the legions of grown-ups cloaked in what is known as “business casual.”
This morning, I had a job interview. You can imagine the panic that this threw me into, as I do not own anything that fits the bill of “business casual.” Not a pair of black pants. Not a single button-down shirt. No – I don’t know – what are they called? Loafers? Not a pair.
Tell me. In this great, vast megalopolis we call “The World,” is there a single button-down shirt that looks good on a woman? Anywhere? Because I scoured the city of Nashville, and tried on dozens of shirts, and they all left me looking like a dowdy, shapeless matron. HOW, pray tell, is one supposed to wear a button-down shirt and look good? I mean, I guess I could do this.
I couldn’t remember the rules. Hair pulled back, or hair down? Shirt tucked in, or out? Jewelry, or none? Painted fingernails, or bare? Look cute, or look conservative? Lipstick????
And those questions haven’t even addressed what I need to say in the interview. What do I need to know? How far back in the company’s history do I need to research? Do I need to have a statement prepared, telling them why I would be the very best person for the job? Or does that come across as arrogant?
Well, I went. I was interviewed by two men in suits, and I think they liked me. I should know sometime next week.
And just to ease my poor mother’s palpitating heart, I went with naked fingernails and covered cleavage. Everybody just calm down.
On Facebook, there are six random friends that are displayed on one’s profile at any given time. Each time I refresh my page, six new faces appear. Without fail, every time I see these six faces, I imagine that I’m stuck on a desert island with them, and wonder how awkward or awesome that combination might be.
Sometimes, it’s really exciting: “She’s the kind of person that I would want around in a crisis, and he would probably make a really sweet hut. And that guy can be there just because he’s cute.” But other times, the make-believe awkwardness and discomfort wins out: “Those two would fight about religion, and he’s a know-it-all even though he doesn’t know anything, and she’s a vegan, so…”
This little game of mine highlights a really cool truth about my life: I have so many friends, and they are extraordinarily different. I have a few really close kindred spirits, but am also peripherally involved in many varied social networks. Each person brings something unique and noteworthy to the mix. I learn from each person, whether it’s about civil engineering, or what liquor goes into a Manhattan, or how to play a diminished chord on the guitar, or why turning 30 is going to be rad, or how to pair the right accessories with an outfit, or simply, what kindness looks like.
Friends, thanks for being my friends.
And obviously, I can’t wait for “Lost” to come back… TWO WEEKS FROM TONIGHT.
The housing options continue to line up, and then get knocked over like dominos. It is frustrating. It is disappointing. I think that my favorite thing in the world is having a home – and this is magnified by the fact that I have not had a home, a real home with my stuff set out the way that I want it, a haven that is all my own, since June.
My stuff is in boxes. It’s in boxes here in Nashville, it’s in boxes in Kansas City, it’s in boxes in friends’ crawl spaces in Seattle. My clothes are in suitcases and laundry baskets and duffel bags. My books are packed in with my linens and dishes. I don’t know where my coffee grinder is. I want to unpack and spread out and organize my life. I want to hang my pictures on a wall. I want to put my magnets on the fridge. I want to color-code my closet.
The other night, I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited to go check out a studio apartment that sounded so promising. I lay awake for hours, envisioning how I would set up shop. The hardwood floors, the big windows, the spacious kitchen – it all sounded so lovely and perfect. But yesterday, when I popped in to look at the space, my jaw fell to the floor. It was ghetto. It was dirty. It was run-down and dingy. It was cold, and uninviting, and tiny. I am one who can envision “the possibilities,” but this place left me feeling like I’d been kicked in the teeth. It was not at all what I had pictured. I walked out and got in my car, the closest thing to “home” I have known for over 6 months now, and cried.
Yesterday, I told a friend, “I’ve always said that God will provide me with what I need when I need it. But I need a place to live, and I’m just not finding it.” I felt so disheartened.
But then, last night, while watching the awful American Idol auditions with Grant, it dawned on me. A few months ago, I didn’t even know Grant. I had no way of knowing that I’d be living in his spare room right now. Back in October, when I was praying that God would prepare a place for me here in Nashville, I had no way of knowing that THIS is where I would land.
But here I am. Right now, God is answering the prayers that I prayed all through the fall. I have a place to stay. I have a warm, comfy bed, and plenty of space to put my boxes. I have a shower. I have my egg on toast every single morning. I have a place to live, even if it’s just for now.
I continue to pray that God would provide me with a place of my own – the exact right home for me. In the right location. For the right price. With little unforeseen details that might even delight me. And I anticipate the day when I can look back on this time, and recognize that God was faithful all along.
This gives “smart ass” a whole new meaning.
For the past 10 days (has it only been 10 days?), I have been a rollercoaster of emotion. Within a single day, I can feel hugely hopeful, and then despairing, and then peaceful, and then turmoiled. I don’t enjoy feeling so schizophrenic, and I don’t like the fact that my circumstances have such control over my attitude. I continue to plug away, looking for jobs and places to live, but each time that something looks promising, the rug is ripped out from beneath my feet and I fall apart.
But I have found a new reason to live.
Walking through Pier 1 tonight, I came across the most perfect couch I could possibly dream up. No, it’s not flashy, and there’s nothing really remarkable about it aside from the fact that it was screaming my name. And from the depth of my spirit, my soul (sounding strangely like David Cassidy) echoed back, “I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of?”
I circled the sofa, inspecting every line, every angle. Is it red, or is it rust, or is it brown, or is it pink? I choose to believe that it could be any color that I want it to be. I cautiously lowered myself onto the cushions, and was pleasantly surprised to find it cozy and comfortable. I envisioned it next to the the only piece of furniture that I own, The Chair:
Obviously, for someone who has such impeccable taste in furniture, not just any sofa will do. And I have found one that is up to standards.
Therefore, I will press on in my job search. I will persevere until I find a home. And someday, when I once again have ANY expendable income, the couch will be mine.
Oh yes. It will.
I may be jobless. I may be homeless. But I’ll tell you what: I am far from friendless here in Nashville.
I might never take a job, just to keep up with my social engagements.
People have been overwhelmingly kind and welcoming. I have met up with different people – very different people, from very different demographics and walks of life and social circles – every day this past week. On Friday night, I had three different invitations and had to turn down two of them, which was so sad because each offer was attractive. I am reminding myself that I live here now, and will have plenty of time to spend with my new friends… but I want to get to know everyone all at once!
So tonight, I’m exhausted. As an introvert, it’s draining to put myself out there day after day, and try to be cute and pleasant and have really good hair, when what’s really going on inside of me is, “I’M SO FREAKED OUT RIGHT NOW.” But I have a strange suspicion that even if my true colors came flying out, these Nashvillians might still like me.
I know I like them.
This whole “chase your dreams” thing is scary business. In the span of one week, I don’t know that I have ever felt so uncomfortable, uncertain, afraid, lonely, or self-doubting. I am one who loves structure, and for things to be “set.” I want to know where the money is going to come from. I want to know what I’m doing tomorrow. I want to know how to get to Target.
And none of those things are true for me right now.
But when we’re isolated and scared and insecure, we have a choice: to fall apart, or to lean all of our weight on Jesus. This week, I have started praying a new prayer: that God would feed my faith and starve my fear.
Today, I passed on a great apartment in East Nashville – a big, comfortable abode that would have been a great place to live, but would have required me making a certain amount of money. I could make that money, too – but it might require me taking a job that would suck the life out of me.
I came to Nashville for a specific purpose: to sing harmonies and improve my writing. If those are the things that I want to do, then those are the things that I need to be pursuing… NOT a full-time corporate job that’s going to pay me the most money. Money would be nice. But it’s not why I’m here. And for me, to take a job simply because it pays well would be acting out of fear. Fear of not having enough, fear of insecurity, fear of everything falling apart. I do not want my life to be dictated by fear.
And so I wait, and I pray. I pray that I would not make decisions out of fear of insecurity, but that I would wait patiently for what is right. It’s so uncomfortable. But I trust that there is a life for me here, and that every detail will make itself clear in time.
Since I arrived in Nashville, I have been subsisting on a steady diet of:
* Breakfast: egg on toast
* Lunch: one piece of bread with mustard and turkey (no cheese)
* Dinner: tomato soup with 4 Ritz crackers crumbled in.
Yesterday, my mom reminded me that I am NOT at the bottom of the hole (yet), and stop being ridiculous, and go buy yourself a brick of cheese, for crying out loud. I do have some savings, and the reason that I saved money for so long was to HAVE it when I NEED it. Now is one of those times. And so, I am allowing myself to spend some of my life-savings on Caloric Intake and Survival.
After much thought and prayer, I decided that I could allow myself a mid-afternoon snack. So I purchased two of my favorite ingredients: apples and peanut butter.
Adam’s, my favorite peanut butter, was nowhere to be found in this foreign store they call Kroger. I did, however, find what looked to be the next-best-thing: Krema Natural Peanut Butter. I took it home, and before opening it, noticed a suggestion on the label:
“For stirring tips, visit our website!”
Stirring tips? Intriguing! Now, I am one to follow instructions, adhere to the rules, even when it involves using the tube’s “suggested” amount of a 1” strip of toothpaste every time I brush my teeth. So, naturally, before proceeding any further with my snack, I checked out the website.
Their tip: “Oil separation occurs naturally, just stir it up!”
And once again, there went 2 minutes of my life that I can never get back.
