{W}Dialogue: Reflect.Rethink.Redo
“You did it again? I swear you are so fickle.”
“I’m not fickle. I’m a Virgo! you wouldn’t understand.”
“How do you know…”
“I’m constantly changing and moving and I can’t help it. I know- I said I would leave the other design up for a while, but I changed my mind. It’s my right. Right?”
“Well then, why the black? Why the change?”
” I was listening to “Back to Black” you know, Amy Whinehouse? And I started thinking that if I had to describe where I am in my life using colors, I wouldn’t be able to. All I see are shards of broken crayons melted together from the heat of of my tears.”
“Who talks like this? I can’t follow you when you get like this”
“The confusion is too much for me and I decided that I needed to deal with things in stages. And for me that meant going “back to black”.
“But black is despair. It’s void. It’s empty.”
“For you. For many. But for me, for me, black is soothing.”
“It would be.”
“Listen, OK. Just listen. When I was a child I would sit in the dark and try to figure out what my next move would be when life got hectic and harsh. And as I sorted through the mucky mess that one often gets when too many colors mix, my black would be filled with very specific hues. I would see blues, and yellows, and greens, almost like they were flooding me with clarity.
As I sat today I saw RED. Not angry red. It was more of a fiery amber of passion. And it suddenly occurred to me that what I’m missing more than anything is passion- that spark that urged me to “do”… Continue reading
{W}rite-of-Passage #5: The Job
When I was 14, my mother decided that my free time was better spent earning money and learning that life was difficult rather than getting into trouble gallivanting with my neighborhood friends. She was a RN and worked two full-time jobs to make ends meet after divorcing my father. Maybe the exhaustion contributed to her crabby-assed personality, but it was her Southern upbringing that made her a fan of hard labor. And so, to ensure that I experienced as much of it as I could, she decided that I would take on the role of “Office Bitch” in the clinic in which she was employed.
The Ear, Nose, and Throat Clinic was on the fourth floor of one of the busiest trauma hospitals in the Bronx. I would spend every weekend, school vacation, holiday, and unscheduled summer day at the clinic sorting through boxes of files, bills, and other paperwork that I was sure my mom saved simply so that I could sort them.
My first day on the job was “Take Your Daughter To Work Day” – which to my mom meant that I was supposed to “work” rather than “observe”. I was excited when she told me that she wanted me to come to work with her. Our relationship had been strained since I developed opinions of my own and I had hoped that this would be a step toward healing. Besides, I was missing school and did not have to cut to do so. We ate breakfast- pancakes and eggs- and after we dressed headed out to catch the cab that had a standing order to pick my mom up at 7:45 am.
The ride was silent on my end. My mom, however, reiterated her usual sermon singing the praises of a good education and the evils… Continue reading