acceptance · adulthood · commitment · discovery · finances · growth · maturity · TEACHING · time · work

Sucker

Dear Folks,
My new “normal people” hours are conflicting with my ability
to write this with coherence, and eat, shower, become fully conscious. So,
forgive its in/coherency, if it is so.
I had two phone calls yesterday that sort of count as
informational interviews. One was with my darling Aunt Roberta (technically my
mom’s cousin, but all those cousins are sort of like aunts and uncles – that’s
how it was when you played stickball in the streets of Brooklyn in the ’50s).
She has been a professor of English since the sun was born,
and had some great information and tips for me. She sent me her teaching resume
to take a look at, as I’m beginning to apply for teaching jobs – something I’ve
viciously avoided for so long, I almost
forget why. … but I do remember.
For as long as I can
remember, what with my interest in literature, and writing, and reading,
well-meaning folks have said the following to me:
Well, you could always teach English.
Somehow this phrase has turned into an anathema for me. Is this the only
thing that I can do?? It begins to sound like a default, like welp, you could
always settle. It has calcified into a job title that brings to mind aging high
school professors, eking out their little lives in some underappreciated,
underpaid job. My vision of “teacher” has come to also mean “sedentary,” as
once you get a job teaching, all I hear is “tenure” and that’s all people are
working toward – all they want is to stay as absolutely still as possible. No
room for exploration, movement, change. You got it, you keep it, you pipe down,
and suck it up.
Obviously, many of these ideas are unrealistic and quite
ridiculous, but that hasn’t kept them from keeping me away from the whole idea
of teaching – teaching English, teaching high school, teaching college – as if
I’ve ever thought that I could.
But…
The reality.
Firstly, as Roberta was quick to assure me, teaching does not mean wasting away in some small town or inner city
for eternity – it doesn’t have to mean that, and particularly in the beginning,
it doesn’t mean that – as chances are, as a beginning teacher, you’ll have to
sort of go where the job is.
Secondly, … and here’s the hilarious irony … I like teaching.
Sure, it’s hard work – I’ve done it before, but never
considered what I’ve done as “real” teaching. I had a job at a Sunday School last year, once a
week (and had lots of lesson planning experience to really really learn that lesson planning.is.not.paid.). I also
taught ESL in South Korea for almost two years, but I don’t “count” that either,
as I was hung-over most of the time, and worked out my lesson about 10 minutes
before class, if that.
However, I do like being in a classroom. I also think I have
a lot to offer – I, if I may be so unhumble, think I’m pretty cool. I’m funny,
performative, creative, a good listener, and a very good judge of classroom
dynamics and social cues (i.e. they’re not listening – change it up, or so and so is
interested in so and so, so I better move them). I also have a lot of outside
interests, which makes for a well-rounded incorporation of things into the
lesson plan.
Thirdly, I’m technically qualified to do it now, with my degree and all. 
So, I could do it.
And as I’ve reminded myself a lot over the last year, “Can I
do it?” is a different than “Do I want to do it?”
But here’s the change occurring. My wonderful sunshine ball,
Maila, came over for tea last night. Here’s what she said:
“If it wasn’t hard, they wouldn’t have to pay us.”
BAH! Oh, right. It’s work. The ideal is that work include some play or interest, or a lack of
soul-crushing mindlessness that leaves
zero energy available for outside pursuits. And the thing
is, I want and would love to pursue a LOT of outside pursuits.
As she was leaving, I thought of something else which has
probably helped to keep me at arms-length from a “real” job. I’m reminded of my
life several years ago, which I know is similar to a lot of folks I hang out
with.
In the cheepy-birdie hours of the morning, in the hours when
the sky is beginning to lighten, and the new day is dawning, I and we, were
usually heading home. Weaving and wending our way to some pass-outable
location, or so red-eyed and clench-jawed that the chirping birds were a
mockery of all that is holy (Shut the fuck UP! Don’t remind me it’s a new day,
I’m still … still … STILL up!).
And as we were wending home, or at least one well-worn path
I remember particularly, as I was wending my way home in my second tour of
teacher duty in South Korea, I would pass by a church on Sunday morning. There,
people, humans, were walking to church. And I would sneer, Suckers.
These people, in their pressed, clean clothes, with a full
night’s sleep, and a full refrigerator. With brushed teeth, and combed hair,
and a place to get to at 8 or 9am. Who paid rent, and taxes, and didn’t have
their utilities turned off monthly. Whose teeth were not ground down with
clenching, or livers distended with liquor, or clothing bathed in a cheap bath
of smoke. These people, with real jobs, real lives, real responsibilities, were
Suckers. They knew nothing of the way things ought to be, the nocturnal,
hedonistic, nihilistic counter-culture. They were suckers.
And as I begin to accept that it’s time for me to take on
those same responsibilities, there’s a part of me that calls myself a Sucker.
But, I’m not a hedonist anymore. I don’t reek, or steal, or
slink anymore. If a balanced check-book, paid rent, cat and people food, and
some bass lessons are what I want, then I have to do what they do. I have to be
a Sucker,
which I guess is another word for Adult. 

acceptance · adulthood · commitment · growth · letting go · life · self-support · willingness

Grown-upness

I was on the phone yesterday with a friend/mentor of mine.
I’d asked her for an informational interview, with the knowledge that I had no
idea what I was going to ask her – I’d let her know that in the email, too. She
accepted anyway, and on the phone we were, as I sat beneath the dome of the
downtown SF shopping center during my lunch break from the temp gig.
She knows much of my story and development over the last few
years, and works in a field to help people, and, most importantly to me, seems
to have some semblance of balance between work, creativity, and life. I thought
she’d be a good place to “start.”
I told her the 2nd thing that came up at the
“money meditation” on Monday. The 2nd question was “Do I (Molly)
fear you (money)?” The answer was, Yes, because I mean responsibility.
Oh Responsibility! How I’ve run from you!
Over the course of my conversation with my friend, she
reflected back to me that it sounds like I want to be powerful, without
building or holding or being the vessel for that power. I do want to do great
things (not like, ooh famous – just like, ooh cool), and, I have not wanted to
really take the ownership of what it might take to get there. See,
particularly, Magical Accidental Orgasm.
There is no one coming to live my life for me. There is no one coming to take
the risks and chances and changes that I need to make in my life and attitude
for me. It’s up to me.
Or it’s not. I can choose or not to take the reigns of my
life. I can choose or not to take the steps to holding responsibility for
myself.
This responsibility thing, my aversion to it, came up
earlier this year, in a workshop run by the very same friend. See, I have these
old associations with responsibility. That it means more than I am able to
handle. That’s what it meant when I was young – having to do things a child
should not have to do, things that an adult ought to have been doing, but the
adults in my life were not quite able to do that. So, I did. And I resented it,
and I was burdened by it, and I’ve carried my resentment and fear of
responsibility here through and to my adulthood.
Adulthood. That word came up yesterday in our conversation
too. “Adult.” “Grown-up.” If I want grown-up things, which I very much do, then
I have to learn to be a grown-up. Sure, I’m 30, but that’s no indication of
adulthood.
Things that grown-ups have — a job, a car, a house, a
relationship, stability, vacation — well, they earn these things by showing
up for themselves in a responsible way. My same friend had worked as a house
cleaner for ten years before coming to her pursuit of her current profession.
She also said, basically, nothing can grow in the dark. I am
ripe with resentment, self-pity, longing, entitlement, and self-centeredness
because of this ongoing rejection of the mantle of grown-up. I grasp
at things I think I want, but I’m not willing to firm the foundation to get
there – to mix the mortar, lay the bricks. Chop wood, carry sticks. That’s
where I need to be at. Very simply, I need to lay hold of qualities and actions
that I have tried to avoid.
The truth is that I have no idea what it would be
like to take responsibility for myself. I’ve churned along at this hamstrung
pace and mind-set for so long, I honestly don’t know. I’ve been talking here
some about how “grace” and gifts from the Universe have been incredibly lovely,
but that they don’t help me to build self-esteem around jobs and work and …
being a responsible adult, basically.
To warm up to the idea of being a grown-up. Yes, very much I
want to be one – I want what they seem to have. But what I see, I suppose is
the externals. What I haven’t seen, necessarily, is all the work they have put in to get there. To do what is necessary. I
haven’t done what is necessary. I’ve done everything else, I’ve danced around
the entry to that path for a decade, and belly-ached, Why can’t I get there?
Why is the door closed to me? It’s not closed. Never has been. I’ve been
terrified of what it means to begin to walk down it. But the truth is, and
forgive me, I got a cat a year and a half ago. She is a monument to my warming to commitment – has
this responsibility, has responsibility for this life, hers, created any burden
or pain in my life? Not in the slightest, and in fact, has brought untold and
unforeseen joy.
This is what I too imagine that taking on responsibility for
my own life may bring. Sure, I imagine it’ll be a little different, seeing as
it’s mine, and my brain is such a lovely chatter factory. But, maybe not.
Maybe, the doors will swing open as I take one step onto the path of
grown-upness. Maybe, simply, I’ll feel better knowing that I’m on the path at
all. 

adulthood · change · commitment · community · faith · family · growth · home · life · recovery · relationships · romance · spirituality · tradition

The Kotzker Rebbi

According to legend, and history, Menachem Mendel
Morgenstern of Kotzk, Poland was an eccentric and influential rabbi, teaching
and forming one of the early branches of Hasidism, creating a more austere sect
of Judaism.
According to legend, and history, The Kotzker Rebbi, as he
was known, locked himself in his room for the last 20 years of his life. He
never left it. He received his food through a hole in the wall, and apparently
opened the door of his home once a year, revealing himself and his new
teachings/learnings to his disciples.
According to genetics, I am his great great great
granddaughter. His grandson is my grandfather’s father… I think. I have a family
tree at home somewhere. Either he’s my grandfather’s grandfather, or my grandfather’s
great grandfather. I haven’t done the math. 
Point being, and why it occurs to me today, I have no idea –
but the point being that I have some whacked out crazy, and powerful, Jews in
my lineage, living in my blood and DNA.
I’ve always found this fascinating. Firstly, it sort of
points to the understandability that mental illness runs in my family(!), and
secondly, it just sort of makes sense that Judaism continues to be this thread
in my life. I can’t sever it, ignore it, dismiss it – it is me.
When I began teaching at the Sunday School last year in
Berkeley, I said that I felt it was both my duty and my privilege to do so.
There is a line from some text that if any of us knows even one word of Hebrew he is
bound to teach it to someone else.
Again, I don’t really know why this occurs to me today. I
suppose as I begin to think about the direction my life is taking, or may take,
or I want it to take, I begin to think about this thread. Part of my
consideration in where I will move next, if I move, and eventually I
will (whenever “eventually” is), is if there are Jews there. For example, I’ve
been enamored of Asheville, North Carolina, ever since I heard of it through a
friend of mine who lives there. Young, hip, mountainous, liberal, artsy,
cultured … with one Jewish temple, of Conservative affiliation – aka, more
religious than I am, or want to be.
I don’t want to be more religious, I simply want to have
more connection to the community. More connection to those who share a history,
random Yiddish words, and a very eye-rolly understanding of the complexities of
a Jewish family.
So, Asheville may not be it. I have this crude crayon
drawing I made after a group meditation about 6 or more months ago. It’s a
couple, a man and a woman, holding hands, walking up a street to a
t-intersection. At the head of this intersection is a house – with a
wrap-around porch, huge trees, and a stream in the back, nested by a forest
behind it. To the right of this couple on the main street is a building with a
symbol for recovery on its façade. To the left of them, is a building with a
Jewish star above the door.
This is my vision. This, I believe, is how I become the
woman I want to be. Buoyed by my communities of faith, I’m able to stand in
partnership with another human being, and take part in what the world has to
offer.
I am grateful to have the quirky lineage that I have. It
makes sense to me, and makes me smile. (On my other side, my dad’s side, I’m
descended from Bohemians, literally.) Somehow I feel that I’m preparing to take
up a mantle that belongs to me, which includes all of these histories and as
well as all of the modern and current advantages I’ve inherited as a 20th
century woman with good health and education. And I’ll be curious when I find
that crayon drawing in 20 or 30 years to see how close I’ve come. 

authenticity · commitment · honesty · self-care

The Befogged Crystal Ball

You know that tired where you feel all dehydrated? Blech.
But, what must be done, must be done, and I have to head in
to SF in a little while to meet up with a lady friend/teacher of mine. After
that, this afternoon, I’m heading to North Beach to live model for a friend’s
friend. This is sort of a trial run, agreed upon in a safe environment – one
where I feel safe at least, not that the
modeling guild wasn’t, but this woman is a more known entity. I’m not getting
paid – as she’s basically agreed to see me and see if I ought to try to pursue
this more, and for me to see if I want to try to pursue this more.
I had a moment in February when I was still considering whether or not
to drop out of the modeling guild – before I’d been on any gigs – when we had
live models in our painting class. And it was just so cool. It’s just really cool. Here are these people, and
suddenly, they’re art. It’s fascinating and enticing to me, and I called a
friend and was like, I don’t know what to do – if I continue with the guild, I
have to rent a zipcar to get to the outlying gigs (as I’d lied on the
application and said I had a car – as I knew that’d be a requirement – but I
don’t, and that was coming around to bite me). Paying the cost of the rental
really cut in to any money I’d make modeling, and it was beginning to feel like
an exercise in self will, rather than the attendant “ease and flow” that can
come when things are a bit more “meant to be.”
So, I dropped out of the guild, having not been on a single
job, but having had a lot of good learning from doing the audition as well as
the training sessions. And my friend put me in touch with a painter friend of
hers, female, who uses live models and would be willing to see if this is a
good fit for me or not. Then if it does go well, so the line goes, she’ll let
her other painter/drawing friends know about me.
We’ll see. The nice thing about this one is that there isn’t
as much pressure. If I need to stop, then I will. If it’s too physically
grueling, I’ll learn that. It’s really f-ing hard to stand still for 20 minutes, and then do that for 3 hours in
increments. It’s not all standing hopefully – some is sitting. But the “good
ones” can do a lot of standing, I think. But what do I know. We’ll see.
I’m also in the process of learning how to pull my life-line tendrils out of San Francisco and root further into Oakland, in a “bloom
where I am planted” effort. So, I may or may not be going in to see my teacher-friend weekly any more. I don’t know yet. I’ve been seeing her for more than 3
years now, we’ve been through a lot, she’s seen me through a lot, and there’s
fear and sadness about changing the nature of our relationship.
I went over a friend’s for dinner last night – here in
Oakland, surprise! – and we were talking about how hard it is to end, or
change, relationships that aren’t “bad.” There’s nothing wrong. No one is to
blame. It’s just not working any more. My SF teacher and I have had the
conversation before, that soon enough, I might want to find someone to work
with over here in Oakland, but each time, I’ve said Nuh Uh, I still get so much
out of meeting with her. Which is true. I still, to this day, get so much out of meeting with her. But the commute is a killer
and it’s dragging me down. An hour and a half to get there, to meet for an
hour, and then an hour and a half back is … not an efficient use of my time,
and despite my trying to “make it work” and let it be “okay,” it’s just not.
And, I’m finally becoming willing to take action around this change.
It is weird to change
the nature of a relationship, from one that is more mentor/pupil to potentially
just peers/friends, without rancor or dishonesty or blame. There just isn’t
that, and so it gets to just be sad, but also freeing as I get to be honest
about my needs and what I’m available for.
I’m not sure if I’ll “pull the plug” today. I don’t know if
that’s the most nurturing thing for me to do today with the end of school coming, and this woman having
watched me go through all that it took to get to school at all. But, I’m approaching
the place of accepting that this is necessary, and that I’m willing to make the
change, though I’m scared of what happens then.
As someone said to me recently, “I have a crystal ball, but I just don’t know how to use it yet.” 
commitment · community · progress · recovery · self-care

Scatterbot

I dunno why. Sounds about right. Scattering parts of me
hither and thither. My apartment reflects that disarray most of the time. And as
I’ve written, the disparate parts of me are scattered. And my thesis, scattered.
I mention it today, as one of my action items is to print
the last 9 pages that I’ve written and consolidate them into the whole. This
isn’t like tacking them on to the end, that’s not the way my thesis is written
– not linearly. It is more like a collage, and I have to figure out what makes
these disparate pieces a whole.
As you can imagine, this is as – if not more – metaphorical as
it is literal. And I’ve been stalling. Not long, just a few days, but long
enough to notice. I went to the local library to print out the 9 pages, and a woman
was on the computer, so I waited about 5 minutes, and left. And, it’ll be time
for me to do that again today – but, uh, stay
this time, and print them out.
It’s like … gluing an old vase back together. You’ve hung on
to the pieces because you couldn’t bare to chuck them; and so you’ve lost some
of the little bits that used to create the whole. But I notice the missingness
of the vase.
I’ve asked a girlfriend of mine from school to take a look
at it once it’s in order, and to read it with an editing, writerly eye. She’s
agreed, and I feel safe and comfortable showing the work to her – she’s been in
workshops with me, and I trust her eye on my work – she gets it. Plus I respect
and love her writing, which is helpful in a partnership of this sort. So, I’m supposed
to get something – by my own deadline – to her by Friday. The end of Spring
Break – which, doesn’t look much different to me than any other week, except
I’m not on campus two days this week.
The other thing I have to unscatter for tomorrow are my
numbers – I meet with someone weekly to talk through financial clarity and do
some work, and it’s my self-imposed deadline to load all my numbers into my
spreadsheet before I meet with her – as when I was only doing it monthly, it
felt too vague, like I really didn’t know what I had to spend or had spent in the categories
I’ve designated.
I also have an “action partner” now. It was suggested to me
last week that I get an “art action partner,” but as I was talking with my
friend last night, we agreed, they’re pretty much the same thing in our lives.
So, I have someone who I’m emailing now daily the tasks I’ll do today – like
the printing and the numbers – and then, theoretically, I’ll email her tonight
to let her know what I’ve done.
We’ll see how it goes. We’re playing the structure of it loosely, but I know
I need a daily list at the moment. My fear is causing my lack of structure to
dissolve into procrastination and paralyzation. (The three “P”s, I’ve heard
are: Perfectionism, Procrastination, Paralyzation.) So I’m trying to head the
cycle off at the pass by creating a structure where babysteps are acknowledged
and doable… and accountable.
It is by baby steps that I won’t fuck it up, basically.
Inaction has the same result for me as too much or big action – taking an
outsized step, and falling, and then feeling like See, I can’t do it. When in
reality, it just was an outsized step for where I am in my development, and I’d
set myself up to fail.
I’m looking forward to some of this structure, because I
feel like by standing on the foundation of it, I feel supported, and like I’m
taking estimable acts.
Scatterbot, powering down. Gathering time, commence. 

commitment · dating · faith · Jewish · recovery · self-care

Standards

Yesterday as I was walking to catch my bus to the movies
with friends, a young man walked out of a nearby store and was walking just a few
paces next to me in the same direction. It was obvious we were going to be
going the same way for a while, so I asked him what he’d bought at the store –
it’s a little Italian food and cheese shop.
We ended up chatting and laughing a good bit on the way, and
as my bus came into sight, and he was going to continue on his way, I
introduced myself and held out my hand. He did the same, and then he asked, Do
you want to get together some time?
I smiled, and said, Actually I’m not dating right now, but
thank you. And he looked a little quizzical, but accepted it, and as we crossed
the street, I said maybe I’ll see you around. And I got on my bus, with
a grin on my face.
This young man, about my age, attractive, and I
picked up a Jewish vibe (my Jew-dar is pretty good with men). But, he was about
5 inches shorter than me. (I’m close to 6feet tall, if you didn’t know.)
I told my friend about the interaction later, and she said, “he wasn’t up to my standards, no pun intended…” But, unfortunately or not, it’s
true. I’ve tried to make good enough good enough, and it just doesn’t work for
me. I’ve tried to make almost the right fit into the right fit, but it’s like
Cinderella’s sisters’ bleeding toes. Eventually, the truth will out.
I felt glad that I was approachable and attractive. I felt
bummed that it wasn’t the right fit. But, I suppose it’s progress that I’m
approachable.
I still think about the Catholic and our incredible first
date in January – like something out of Before Sunrise.
I’ve been noticing I really do have a type, a physical type, at least. Blond and blue eyed. So, a blond blue
eyed, tall Jew. Right… But, as someone once told me, the Universe will either
fulfill your desire, or take it away. Or, as I’ve also heard, G-d has three answers: Yes, Not Now, and I have something better in mind.
For my reluctance to write this in an open forum, before I
met my last boyfriend, I felt like and said that I felt ready for “the one
before ‘The One,’” that I wasn’t quite ready for white-picket fence land, or to
be fully emotionally available – but that I was ready to try for the almost.
And believe it or not, I believe that’s exactly what
happened. It was almost right. It was in many ways also very not right. But I
got to practice being in a relationship; noticing my patterns, my alternation
between a desire to control and be approved of, and a desire to reject. I got to see that I wasn’t
a half-bad girlfriend, which was good, considering my self-esteem’s attachment to my sordid promiscuous past.
And, ultimately, I got to see that the difference between “almost” and “yes,”
though small, is also a canyon. Not easily crossed or bridged by any amount of
force or desire.
I’ve had a few approaches by “almosts” in the last six
months or so. And I’ve gotten to play the tape – the recent tape of trying with
an almost. It included tears, pain, “breaks,” coercion, frustration, despair.
(Of course, it also included joy, humor, contentment, and creativity.) It was
not enough. And so, I’ve had to practice saying no.
I’m not sure that I like using the phrase “I’m not dating
right now,” which had been true for the last few months, not being emotionally
available to date. But I feel that that’s changing. So, we’ll see. Maybe I will
get the opportunity to say Yes sometime soon.
(And, by the way, part of the reason for today’s blog is all
a ‘note to self’ about the inappropriate
dude-I-feel-like-a-13-year-old-lost-in-my-gawky-body-when-I-talk-to-you crush I
have on an blue-eyed acquaintance, who is non-jewish, short, taken, but oh so …
yummy.) 😉