One of my former instructors contacted me via Facebook earlier and shared with me a poem I'd written in 2000 that she'd just found. I'll share it with you.
Looking around from the pinnacle steep,
I saw a great field filled with many small sheep.
A voice said to me, “You may have all this and more,
If you’ll simply worship me on this high, rocky floor.”
I thought the thing through—and thought very well—
And decided this choice would land me in Hell.
Looking out from the pinnacle, the voice came again—
“I could make you the supreme ruler of men!
All would adore and answer only to you!”
But I did not want all of humanity to.
Then I thought of a fix that would fix him up nice—
“Sir,” said I, (and I never thought twice)
“You are insolent, intolerable, and filled with deceit!
Why, you just stood there and lied to me, straight through your teeth!
Tell me why I would want a field full of sheep.
Who do you think I am? Little Bo Peep!
And why would I want men to bow down to me?
Isn’t that why Christ died on the Tree?”
Then Satan just stood there with nothing to say
So, I said, “That’s all there is, so, I’ll be on my way!”
Friday, August 21, 2015
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Safe Spot [Emotional/Mental Abuse themes, Religious themes]
I see you there.
You lurk ever in my periphery.
Watching…
...waiting…
You wait for the moment.
That one moment in which I demonstrate
Power…
...thought…
It scares you.
It has always scared you.
I have always scared you.
You told me, once,
You wanted to be like me.
Bold…
...unafraid….
But you can’t be.
Not because you are not those things.
But because you made me bold and unafraid.
Your cruelty
Knew no boundaries.
Judgmental…
...hateful…
Love-less.
A person who has friends
Must first be friendly.
Compassion….
...empathy…
These I have, but you do not understand.
I didn’t care.
When your words meant to
cut…
…hurt…
I forgave you in the moment.
But I did not forget.
I did not then,
Nor now, require your validation
Of my life…
...of my person…
I am that I am.
#IStandwithCaitlyn
#INeedFeminismBecause
#BlackLivesMatter
#LoveWins
#IAmAnAlly
You pray for my soul.
A soul already bought and paid for.
Thanks…
...but no thanks….
Spend your energy on someone who needs it.
The boy in the street
Who was turned away by his parents.
Why?
...love…
….of another boy.
The girl in the halfway house
Who was turned away by her parents.
Why?
...fear…
She had been Greg for 13 years.
I see you lurking
In my shadows.
...watching…
…waiting….
All you will find here is love and acceptance.
A safe place.
A safe place
...for one…
…for all…
Forever.
You lurk ever in my periphery.
Watching…
...waiting…
You wait for the moment.
That one moment in which I demonstrate
Power…
...thought…
It scares you.
It has always scared you.
I have always scared you.
You told me, once,
You wanted to be like me.
Bold…
...unafraid….
But you can’t be.
Not because you are not those things.
But because you made me bold and unafraid.
Your cruelty
Knew no boundaries.
Judgmental…
...hateful…
Love-less.
A person who has friends
Must first be friendly.
Compassion….
...empathy…
These I have, but you do not understand.
I didn’t care.
When your words meant to
cut…
…hurt…
I forgave you in the moment.
But I did not forget.
I did not then,
Nor now, require your validation
Of my life…
...of my person…
I am that I am.
#IStandwithCaitlyn
#INeedFeminismBecause
#BlackLivesMatter
#LoveWins
#IAmAnAlly
You pray for my soul.
A soul already bought and paid for.
Thanks…
...but no thanks….
Spend your energy on someone who needs it.
The boy in the street
Who was turned away by his parents.
Why?
...love…
….of another boy.
The girl in the halfway house
Who was turned away by her parents.
Why?
...fear…
She had been Greg for 13 years.
I see you lurking
In my shadows.
...watching…
…waiting….
All you will find here is love and acceptance.
A safe place.
A safe place
...for one…
…for all…
Forever.
Friday, February 6, 2015
To Absent Friends
It wasn't fair.
It isn't fair.
The same name?
The same sweet sense of beauty?
...the secretly hated...
My love for you was pure and simple;
My adoration of you, platonic, from the heart.
I required nothing from you,
Save you be yourself as if it were your art.
You both could sing--
And now sing with Angels.
You both could laugh--
But you're silent now.
Both so handsome, so loving,
So alone....
One of you left with unfinished business,
Ripped from the world in speculations
of hatred, vengeance, and sin.
It was just a violent reaction to the loss of
A beautiful creature.
We had our differences.
The rumors will never cease.
I hope you realize now, that then
I was not the savage beast.
I would have moved heaven and earth
if you would have given me one more
kind word...
The other of you....
My friend. My darling friend....
Where was I in your darkest hour?!
I was too far...
Too far from you...
Too far to save you from....
Humans are cruel, uncaring creatures,
Fear that which they cannot understand.
I miss you, greatly, after fourteen years.
To know, and yet not, the reasons for your loss
Still hurts me.
Two lovely men, pulled from the clutches
Of this mortal coil.
Two lovely voices...
......Silenced......
It isn't fair.
The same name?
The same sweet sense of beauty?
...the secretly hated...
My love for you was pure and simple;
My adoration of you, platonic, from the heart.
I required nothing from you,
Save you be yourself as if it were your art.
You both could sing--
And now sing with Angels.
You both could laugh--
But you're silent now.
Both so handsome, so loving,
So alone....
One of you left with unfinished business,
Ripped from the world in speculations
of hatred, vengeance, and sin.
It was just a violent reaction to the loss of
A beautiful creature.
We had our differences.
The rumors will never cease.
I hope you realize now, that then
I was not the savage beast.
I would have moved heaven and earth
if you would have given me one more
kind word...
The other of you....
My friend. My darling friend....
Where was I in your darkest hour?!
I was too far...
Too far from you...
Too far to save you from....
Humans are cruel, uncaring creatures,
Fear that which they cannot understand.
I miss you, greatly, after fourteen years.
To know, and yet not, the reasons for your loss
Still hurts me.
Two lovely men, pulled from the clutches
Of this mortal coil.
Two lovely voices...
......Silenced......
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Re-Learning Life: A Two-Year Retrospective
I don't do resolutions. I do goals.
Resolution: I resolve to lose weight and get healthy!
Awesome! How are you going to do it? Resolutions typically come without plans and last for about a month.
Goal: I will lose 15lbs by June 15, alter my diet to support my fat-loss, and go to the gym 3x's/week to increase my fitness level.
It's not perfect, but it's better. A goal is specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-related. Goals, simply put, are smart. My goals for 2013 included the following:
*Drop another 10 lbs of fat by Christmas
*Up my benchpress to 140lbs by Christmas
*Up my deadlift to 225lbs by Christmas
*Up my squat weight to 250lbs by Christmas
*Enter and complete a 5K in 20minutes (Thanksgiving)
*Begin training for an Iron Man competition
*Enter in a beginner's Weight Lifting Competition.
Pretty awesome goals for someone who was squatting 205lbs, deadlifting 185lbs, and benching 115lbs in January.
I weighed 155lbs and looked the best I've ever looked. I was wearing loose size 10's and making progress, daily. I was in love with my health (still battling massive depression, though), but enjoying the fact I was so easily underestimated.
Then April 9 happened. That day, I lost more than just my car. I lost my sense of self.
My husband and I were driving to our apartment on Narbonne, near PCH in Lomita. Our light was green and we and the car next to us, proceeded through the intersection--much to the surprise of a driver coming the opposite way who failed to stop--or even slow down at her light. My world exploded in pain and talc. Pro Tip: NEVER RIDE WITH YOUR FOOT ON THE DASH. Somehow, nothing was broken--but there was damage. I had a severely sprained ankle--to be specific, I had a complete tear (Level 3), a partial tear (level 2), and a group of severely stretched (Level 1) ligaments in my right ankle. The ER, however, was unwilling to send me for an MRI and chose to tell me I was fine. The chiropractor I chose to go to who had a non-surgical ortho on staff chose to ignore my ankle completely.
I continued my training. It wasn't until my ankle gave out on me under a reloaded 160lb squat that I thought there MIGHT be a problem. Nevermind the fact I would walk and fall down occasionally. That didn't send signals to me that there was a problem. It took flying to Chicago in July for a meet & greet and ending up in a wheelchair at the Field museum; drinking so much I don't remember half the trip because I was in tremendous amounts of pain (physical and emotional); and arriving back in LA to be released two weeks later from said chiropractor as being successfully healed for me to be upset. It took visiting a chiropractor in Edmonton whose exact words were: "It feels like you have some exploded ligaments here. You should get an MRI when you get back to the states," for me to do anything. I contacted my lawyer. He referred me to an orthopedist. The orthopedist's exact words were, "It looks like you have exploded ligaments in your ankle...."
Those words haunted me. Exploded ligaments. I'd been training for five months on an ankle with exploded ligaments. I was put off all workouts. No running, no walking, and definitely no lifting. Not even upper body. No. Lifting. Because I push myself. And my orothopedist knew, without knowing me for more than two office visits, that I would cause myself further injury if I even glanced at a weight.
My gains! I lamented...
By November, we knew I was going to need surgery. Our apartment was on the third story of the building--three flights of 14 steps each. Not something you really think about until you're told you won't be able to put any weight on your ankle for 2 weeks; when you're facing down the fact you'll be on crutches...when you have the coordination of a newborn. We started looking for a new place to live.
My husband, at the time, was paying a massive amount of child support. We had very little money; since gluten free foods are typically double the price of regular, something had to give. I chose to be sick so we could afford to move. I wasn't working anymore and it was just his salary. We found a place in San Pedro that we loved. It was a house with a yard--a back house with some pretty awesome neighbors. It took us over a month to move in because I was not allowed to lift anything.
The surgery happened in January. I was already working on my PhD, but the drugs they gave me for the nerve pain made me notice really awful memory issues. I took one class off to get my health under control. I progressed very quickly through my rehab; very quickly. I was released from PT in May, though I still had issues, but none of us could figure out why--the issues were not replicatable in PT. At the end of May, I received my settlement and promptly took a six week trip to Europe.
That trip taught me how to live again.
When one is laid up for a long time, slowly watching activities that kept them sane or whole fall away from their grasp, it becomes so very easy to lose a sense of self. Who was I, if not the girl who could bench press 115lbs? Who was I, if not the girl who trained hard and pushed her body to the limits, then beyond to become better than she was the day before? Who was I...?
I am a beautiful creature who sees things others do not. I am an Old Soul who has lived on this Earth a long, long time. I am connected to my spirituality in ways I never was before--when you have no one and nothing else to rely upon, you rely upon yourself, your intuition, and (in my case) God.
That is what I learned whilst in Europe. That trip taught me how to re-learn living. Living is more than just things happening around you and your reaction to said things. Living is about experiencing life. Creating, for yourself, a world in which everything is beautiful--even the bad parts.
This lesson would become oh so important in the months following my return.
I was still eating pretty poorly and had gained back every single pound I'd meticulously worked to lose. I was weighing in around 185lbs and feeling pretty miserable. My husband's child support was over and we were able to afford my dietary restrictions, again. So, I asked him if he would do a Whole30 with me. He agreed, and we both saw amazing results. I started running training, again and I went from 185 to 168, three pounds shy of my goal.
Then I was hit with another blow. All the pain in my joints that I'd been experiencing for the past two years suddenly got worse. Fatigue like I had never known set in. I started losing grip on things and mentally forcing my fingers to wrap around items, or move, or whatever. My grandmother on my Mom's side had RA. My nurse-sister told me I should get checked. I made an appointment and started a pain journal--and started researching.
RA. Lupus. CFS/ME. MS. These were the things that kept coming up in my symptoms. I began to pay closer attention to my pains and fatigue--what triggered it, what helped it, what environmental factors were present. I went to my RA specialist who took X-Rays and requested blood work. Since Lupus is also an inflammatory disorder, she was testing for that as well. Her initial diagnosis was Fibromyalgia presenting with an auto-immune disorder.
My follow up is next week. One of the things I've read regarding auto-immune disorders is that the best thing to do is keep your spirits up. This has been the best possible thing for me. Everyone has struggles. I have good days, I have bad days--just like everyone else. My depression gets the better of me some days, but the more I try to fight off that monster, the better I am.
The one thing that still gets me: Not being able to pick up a barbell. I'm currently around 170-175lbs; my appetite comes and goes and I get very odd food cravings, randomly. I try to do some type of yoga every day I can, but yoga does not release the same type of endorphines as lifting or running.
With the New Year rapidly approaching, I still find it difficult to make resolutions. But, I find setting goals almost impossible because of the Unknown. Still, I have goals...
*Work at least 3xs/week in a strenuous fashion (biking, walking, calisthenics, etc) by June
*Switch to a strict Paleo diet by May
*Drop to 150lbs by Christmas (or 38-28-36 measurements)
These are goals. These are not resolutions. No amount of resolve will force my body to conform to my wishes. If resolve were all it took, I would be in the gym, benching 120lbs, by now, and likely weighing in around 140-145lbs. I need more than resolve. I need to be smart. I need something specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-related. I believe, as of this moment, my goals for 2015 are smart.
Resolution: I resolve to lose weight and get healthy!
Awesome! How are you going to do it? Resolutions typically come without plans and last for about a month.
Goal: I will lose 15lbs by June 15, alter my diet to support my fat-loss, and go to the gym 3x's/week to increase my fitness level.
It's not perfect, but it's better. A goal is specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-related. Goals, simply put, are smart. My goals for 2013 included the following:
*Drop another 10 lbs of fat by Christmas
*Up my benchpress to 140lbs by Christmas
*Up my deadlift to 225lbs by Christmas
*Up my squat weight to 250lbs by Christmas
*Enter and complete a 5K in 20minutes (Thanksgiving)
*Begin training for an Iron Man competition
*Enter in a beginner's Weight Lifting Competition.
Pretty awesome goals for someone who was squatting 205lbs, deadlifting 185lbs, and benching 115lbs in January.
I weighed 155lbs and looked the best I've ever looked. I was wearing loose size 10's and making progress, daily. I was in love with my health (still battling massive depression, though), but enjoying the fact I was so easily underestimated.
Then April 9 happened. That day, I lost more than just my car. I lost my sense of self.
My husband and I were driving to our apartment on Narbonne, near PCH in Lomita. Our light was green and we and the car next to us, proceeded through the intersection--much to the surprise of a driver coming the opposite way who failed to stop--or even slow down at her light. My world exploded in pain and talc. Pro Tip: NEVER RIDE WITH YOUR FOOT ON THE DASH. Somehow, nothing was broken--but there was damage. I had a severely sprained ankle--to be specific, I had a complete tear (Level 3), a partial tear (level 2), and a group of severely stretched (Level 1) ligaments in my right ankle. The ER, however, was unwilling to send me for an MRI and chose to tell me I was fine. The chiropractor I chose to go to who had a non-surgical ortho on staff chose to ignore my ankle completely.
I continued my training. It wasn't until my ankle gave out on me under a reloaded 160lb squat that I thought there MIGHT be a problem. Nevermind the fact I would walk and fall down occasionally. That didn't send signals to me that there was a problem. It took flying to Chicago in July for a meet & greet and ending up in a wheelchair at the Field museum; drinking so much I don't remember half the trip because I was in tremendous amounts of pain (physical and emotional); and arriving back in LA to be released two weeks later from said chiropractor as being successfully healed for me to be upset. It took visiting a chiropractor in Edmonton whose exact words were: "It feels like you have some exploded ligaments here. You should get an MRI when you get back to the states," for me to do anything. I contacted my lawyer. He referred me to an orthopedist. The orthopedist's exact words were, "It looks like you have exploded ligaments in your ankle...."
Those words haunted me. Exploded ligaments. I'd been training for five months on an ankle with exploded ligaments. I was put off all workouts. No running, no walking, and definitely no lifting. Not even upper body. No. Lifting. Because I push myself. And my orothopedist knew, without knowing me for more than two office visits, that I would cause myself further injury if I even glanced at a weight.
My gains! I lamented...
By November, we knew I was going to need surgery. Our apartment was on the third story of the building--three flights of 14 steps each. Not something you really think about until you're told you won't be able to put any weight on your ankle for 2 weeks; when you're facing down the fact you'll be on crutches...when you have the coordination of a newborn. We started looking for a new place to live.
My husband, at the time, was paying a massive amount of child support. We had very little money; since gluten free foods are typically double the price of regular, something had to give. I chose to be sick so we could afford to move. I wasn't working anymore and it was just his salary. We found a place in San Pedro that we loved. It was a house with a yard--a back house with some pretty awesome neighbors. It took us over a month to move in because I was not allowed to lift anything.
The surgery happened in January. I was already working on my PhD, but the drugs they gave me for the nerve pain made me notice really awful memory issues. I took one class off to get my health under control. I progressed very quickly through my rehab; very quickly. I was released from PT in May, though I still had issues, but none of us could figure out why--the issues were not replicatable in PT. At the end of May, I received my settlement and promptly took a six week trip to Europe.
That trip taught me how to live again.
When one is laid up for a long time, slowly watching activities that kept them sane or whole fall away from their grasp, it becomes so very easy to lose a sense of self. Who was I, if not the girl who could bench press 115lbs? Who was I, if not the girl who trained hard and pushed her body to the limits, then beyond to become better than she was the day before? Who was I...?
I am a beautiful creature who sees things others do not. I am an Old Soul who has lived on this Earth a long, long time. I am connected to my spirituality in ways I never was before--when you have no one and nothing else to rely upon, you rely upon yourself, your intuition, and (in my case) God.
That is what I learned whilst in Europe. That trip taught me how to re-learn living. Living is more than just things happening around you and your reaction to said things. Living is about experiencing life. Creating, for yourself, a world in which everything is beautiful--even the bad parts.
This lesson would become oh so important in the months following my return.
I was still eating pretty poorly and had gained back every single pound I'd meticulously worked to lose. I was weighing in around 185lbs and feeling pretty miserable. My husband's child support was over and we were able to afford my dietary restrictions, again. So, I asked him if he would do a Whole30 with me. He agreed, and we both saw amazing results. I started running training, again and I went from 185 to 168, three pounds shy of my goal.
Then I was hit with another blow. All the pain in my joints that I'd been experiencing for the past two years suddenly got worse. Fatigue like I had never known set in. I started losing grip on things and mentally forcing my fingers to wrap around items, or move, or whatever. My grandmother on my Mom's side had RA. My nurse-sister told me I should get checked. I made an appointment and started a pain journal--and started researching.
RA. Lupus. CFS/ME. MS. These were the things that kept coming up in my symptoms. I began to pay closer attention to my pains and fatigue--what triggered it, what helped it, what environmental factors were present. I went to my RA specialist who took X-Rays and requested blood work. Since Lupus is also an inflammatory disorder, she was testing for that as well. Her initial diagnosis was Fibromyalgia presenting with an auto-immune disorder.
My follow up is next week. One of the things I've read regarding auto-immune disorders is that the best thing to do is keep your spirits up. This has been the best possible thing for me. Everyone has struggles. I have good days, I have bad days--just like everyone else. My depression gets the better of me some days, but the more I try to fight off that monster, the better I am.
The one thing that still gets me: Not being able to pick up a barbell. I'm currently around 170-175lbs; my appetite comes and goes and I get very odd food cravings, randomly. I try to do some type of yoga every day I can, but yoga does not release the same type of endorphines as lifting or running.
With the New Year rapidly approaching, I still find it difficult to make resolutions. But, I find setting goals almost impossible because of the Unknown. Still, I have goals...
*Work at least 3xs/week in a strenuous fashion (biking, walking, calisthenics, etc) by June
*Switch to a strict Paleo diet by May
*Drop to 150lbs by Christmas (or 38-28-36 measurements)
These are goals. These are not resolutions. No amount of resolve will force my body to conform to my wishes. If resolve were all it took, I would be in the gym, benching 120lbs, by now, and likely weighing in around 140-145lbs. I need more than resolve. I need to be smart. I need something specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-related. I believe, as of this moment, my goals for 2015 are smart.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
...But, You Asked...
Hey, Krys, will you help me with a speech thing for Toastmasters?
Sure. What do you want help with? Poise? Gestures? Inflection?
Nah, I'm doing an advanced manual. For interviewing.
... I... see... You realize that whatever that one speech is wanting you to do is just the tip of the ic--
Just sit here. I have a list of questions and I need a partner for this.
Resignation set in as I realized my friend really didn't want my help on this particular speech, as much as he wanted a body in the chair across from him to fulfill a tick in his "Speech Making" book. Therein lay my fundamental problem with Toastmasters. A degreed, professional speech and leadership coach was held back within the organization because she didn't do it the "Toastmaster Way." Whatever. DTM doesn't hold as much weight in the business world as MA or PhD.
Okay, K, first question. How did you get here?
I drove.
C'mon! Don't be a smartass! I'm being serious!
Then ask me a serious question. "How did you get here" is a vague question. How did I get to this place? This city? This state? This age? This precise moment of living hell? Be specific. What is it you want to know?
My friend blinked at me a moment, probably taken aback by my frankness. You ask for my help, you're going to get it. Remember, I charge money to abuse people this way--and they like it! Goddesses, that sounded wrong. Get your mind outta the gutters, my readers.
How did you get where you are in your life?
Still not a solid question, but it's workable. My life is pretty vast, and this little drill is only one aspect. Do you want a specific area, or do you really want a general response?
General.
I gave up caring too much what other people think about me. Once I decided that no one was going to appreciate my knowledges, skills, abilities, and talents--that's KSAOs, by the way--I started doing my thing for my own happiness. It's terrifying to people who prefer the safety and security of a cage while longing for freedom.
My friend stared at me blankly. Uh, can you simplify that?
What's to simplify? The fucks I gave went that way? Does that help you?
Er. Let's just move on. Second question: What is your least favorite memory from childhood?
My least favorite memory from childhood? Seriously? When are you doing this ... speech?
Tonight! So, I really need you to cooperate.
I stared blankly at my soon-to-be-ex-friend, blinked a few times, then slowly closed my eyes for a mental facepalm before abandoning any hope that he would actually write good interview questions.
Krys?
Sorry, was trying to recall. Since it would be a least favorite, I've pushed those from my brain. I suppose it would be January 28, 1986. I had just turned 8, and my hero, Christa McAuliffe, was heading into space.
Why was she your hero?
Her name was the same as mine. Christa. C-H-R-I-S-T-A.
I thought your name was K-R-Y-S-T-A?
If you would shut up, I'd get to that. I was excited because I loved science. I wanted to be an astronaut and explore space. Sally Ride and Christa McAuliffe were my heroes and two women I wanted to meet and work with. I had trouble grasping the fact that my hero had exploded along with her space shuttle. When I talked about it at school on January 29, one of the older kids turned to me and said, "Her name was Kristie. If it had been Christa, we'd have hoped it was you!" I'd never heard so much vitriol in one person's voice. I couldn't understand why or how someone could be so hateful towards another person. I stopped liking my name...I lost my interest in being an astronaut... That was the moment that launched me onto a voyage in the turbulent waters of bullying. That is my least favorite memory.
Okay. Wow. Uh, third question: If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be? I bet it's that scenario, huh. That's really rough.
I would change nothing.
Nothing? Really?! Even after that awful event?
Nothing. One of my favorite concept albums is called Beethoven's Last Night. One of the scenes surrounds the song "This is Who You Are," and it involves Fate offering Beethoven the opportunity to go back and change any singular event in his life, with the caveat that it would change future events. Every piece of music he created told the story of his life; to change one thing about his life would have changed his music. 'It's the strangers in your life you'd never thought you'd meet...it's the hand that cut you down, it's the dream that someone shared...change one note, change one line, nothing's going to be the same. Change one loss, change one cut, everything is re-arranged." If I changed one thing about myself, I wouldn't be who I am today. I think the only thing I want to change is my name. I don't think it suits me.
Oh? Why is that? Because it was the name of your hero?
No. My name means "Follower of Christ." Whereas, yes, that is true...I'm not a blind follower. I will follow, but I will also lead. I have been cut down, but I have regrown, stronger. My name should be reflective, not of my faith alone, but of my life, my personality. I would have to do a lot of research to find the name that truly fits me, but it is one of power, hidden within delicate petals.
I still think it's because you're hanging on to a past hurt. You really should let that go, you know. Live in the now. In the present and look forward to the future.
I had to restrain myself. Nothing bugs me more than a person who asks a question then gets judgey when they receive the answer. Well, that's not true. I'm rather misanthropic, anymore, so people in general bug me about the same. Sometimes more. I suppose when posed questions of this nature, I could just make up a story, but that would be ingenuine of me. Is that a word? It is now. I sat and stared at my ex-friend. Slowly, I smiled and offered a few final thoughts.
Let me ask you a question. Have you ever communed with the trees in a place formerly known for social gatherings? Have you ever felt them reach out to you--begging you to touch them because they missed the light caresses of ladies' fingers as they strolled, sipping their afternoon tea? Have you ever listened a starry sky sing to you because it knew that you, a small blip of nothingness in this vast universe--that you alone could hear their song? Do I focus on my past? No. I often wonder what became of those who bullied me when I was kid--did they ever find the love they desperately needed? Did they find their solace and peace? Or, did they grow into corporate bullies, interested only in themselves and how much they can make. That is the extent of my "focus." Let me be clear--clearer than crystal--you go about your life, day in and day out, safely within your routine. Within your box of societal standards and norms, conforming, but resenting it. I? I live. I experience life. I experience nature. I experience the universe in ways you couldn't imagine. I'm excited for each new day and the experiences I get to have. Even in my darkest days of depression--when the world seems twisted and evil; snarling trees with knotted and twisted branches tearing at my face--even in those moments, I still get to experience life.
I have a question for you: Do you experience life, or merely live it?
There was a long pause. My ex-friend coughed, looked at his notes, then at me. I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'll just find someone else for tonight. Thanks, though.
Yeah, you're welcome. One of the keys to interviewing someone is asking questions for which you truly want answers. Remember, I've said nothing here for which you did not ask. Good luck in your speech. I'm sure it will be flawless and everyone will love it. After all, that is the Toastmaster Way.
Sure. What do you want help with? Poise? Gestures? Inflection?
Nah, I'm doing an advanced manual. For interviewing.
... I... see... You realize that whatever that one speech is wanting you to do is just the tip of the ic--
Just sit here. I have a list of questions and I need a partner for this.
Resignation set in as I realized my friend really didn't want my help on this particular speech, as much as he wanted a body in the chair across from him to fulfill a tick in his "Speech Making" book. Therein lay my fundamental problem with Toastmasters. A degreed, professional speech and leadership coach was held back within the organization because she didn't do it the "Toastmaster Way." Whatever. DTM doesn't hold as much weight in the business world as MA or PhD.
Okay, K, first question. How did you get here?
I drove.
C'mon! Don't be a smartass! I'm being serious!
Then ask me a serious question. "How did you get here" is a vague question. How did I get to this place? This city? This state? This age? This precise moment of living hell? Be specific. What is it you want to know?
My friend blinked at me a moment, probably taken aback by my frankness. You ask for my help, you're going to get it. Remember, I charge money to abuse people this way--and they like it! Goddesses, that sounded wrong. Get your mind outta the gutters, my readers.
How did you get where you are in your life?
Still not a solid question, but it's workable. My life is pretty vast, and this little drill is only one aspect. Do you want a specific area, or do you really want a general response?
General.
I gave up caring too much what other people think about me. Once I decided that no one was going to appreciate my knowledges, skills, abilities, and talents--that's KSAOs, by the way--I started doing my thing for my own happiness. It's terrifying to people who prefer the safety and security of a cage while longing for freedom.
My friend stared at me blankly. Uh, can you simplify that?
What's to simplify? The fucks I gave went that way? Does that help you?
Er. Let's just move on. Second question: What is your least favorite memory from childhood?
My least favorite memory from childhood? Seriously? When are you doing this ... speech?
Tonight! So, I really need you to cooperate.
I stared blankly at my soon-to-be-ex-friend, blinked a few times, then slowly closed my eyes for a mental facepalm before abandoning any hope that he would actually write good interview questions.
Krys?
Sorry, was trying to recall. Since it would be a least favorite, I've pushed those from my brain. I suppose it would be January 28, 1986. I had just turned 8, and my hero, Christa McAuliffe, was heading into space.
Why was she your hero?
Her name was the same as mine. Christa. C-H-R-I-S-T-A.
I thought your name was K-R-Y-S-T-A?
If you would shut up, I'd get to that. I was excited because I loved science. I wanted to be an astronaut and explore space. Sally Ride and Christa McAuliffe were my heroes and two women I wanted to meet and work with. I had trouble grasping the fact that my hero had exploded along with her space shuttle. When I talked about it at school on January 29, one of the older kids turned to me and said, "Her name was Kristie. If it had been Christa, we'd have hoped it was you!" I'd never heard so much vitriol in one person's voice. I couldn't understand why or how someone could be so hateful towards another person. I stopped liking my name...I lost my interest in being an astronaut... That was the moment that launched me onto a voyage in the turbulent waters of bullying. That is my least favorite memory.
Okay. Wow. Uh, third question: If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be? I bet it's that scenario, huh. That's really rough.
I would change nothing.
Nothing? Really?! Even after that awful event?
Nothing. One of my favorite concept albums is called Beethoven's Last Night. One of the scenes surrounds the song "This is Who You Are," and it involves Fate offering Beethoven the opportunity to go back and change any singular event in his life, with the caveat that it would change future events. Every piece of music he created told the story of his life; to change one thing about his life would have changed his music. 'It's the strangers in your life you'd never thought you'd meet...it's the hand that cut you down, it's the dream that someone shared...change one note, change one line, nothing's going to be the same. Change one loss, change one cut, everything is re-arranged." If I changed one thing about myself, I wouldn't be who I am today. I think the only thing I want to change is my name. I don't think it suits me.
Oh? Why is that? Because it was the name of your hero?
No. My name means "Follower of Christ." Whereas, yes, that is true...I'm not a blind follower. I will follow, but I will also lead. I have been cut down, but I have regrown, stronger. My name should be reflective, not of my faith alone, but of my life, my personality. I would have to do a lot of research to find the name that truly fits me, but it is one of power, hidden within delicate petals.
I still think it's because you're hanging on to a past hurt. You really should let that go, you know. Live in the now. In the present and look forward to the future.
I had to restrain myself. Nothing bugs me more than a person who asks a question then gets judgey when they receive the answer. Well, that's not true. I'm rather misanthropic, anymore, so people in general bug me about the same. Sometimes more. I suppose when posed questions of this nature, I could just make up a story, but that would be ingenuine of me. Is that a word? It is now. I sat and stared at my ex-friend. Slowly, I smiled and offered a few final thoughts.
Let me ask you a question. Have you ever communed with the trees in a place formerly known for social gatherings? Have you ever felt them reach out to you--begging you to touch them because they missed the light caresses of ladies' fingers as they strolled, sipping their afternoon tea? Have you ever listened a starry sky sing to you because it knew that you, a small blip of nothingness in this vast universe--that you alone could hear their song? Do I focus on my past? No. I often wonder what became of those who bullied me when I was kid--did they ever find the love they desperately needed? Did they find their solace and peace? Or, did they grow into corporate bullies, interested only in themselves and how much they can make. That is the extent of my "focus." Let me be clear--clearer than crystal--you go about your life, day in and day out, safely within your routine. Within your box of societal standards and norms, conforming, but resenting it. I? I live. I experience life. I experience nature. I experience the universe in ways you couldn't imagine. I'm excited for each new day and the experiences I get to have. Even in my darkest days of depression--when the world seems twisted and evil; snarling trees with knotted and twisted branches tearing at my face--even in those moments, I still get to experience life.
I have a question for you: Do you experience life, or merely live it?
There was a long pause. My ex-friend coughed, looked at his notes, then at me. I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'll just find someone else for tonight. Thanks, though.
Yeah, you're welcome. One of the keys to interviewing someone is asking questions for which you truly want answers. Remember, I've said nothing here for which you did not ask. Good luck in your speech. I'm sure it will be flawless and everyone will love it. After all, that is the Toastmaster Way.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
The Resignation (Language)
I'd had it. I was fed up with all the bullshit that was shoved into my face every day. Everyone else could kneel before The Boss and suck his dick, but I wasn't about to. You just can't treat people that way, y'know?
I'd gone over my resignation letter for some time. I wanted to be professional, just in case the whole self-employment thing didn't work out, but I needed to get my point across that respect is earned not demanded--and, if one expects respect, one needs to be respectful. "A man who has friends must also be friendly," and other pithy sayings dating back to ancient times.
This was the fifteenth draft.
To Whom it May Concern:
As of today, I am tendering my resignation from the company. Over the past five years I have been in your employ, I have found that management seems to offer a certain disregard for humanity. I can not support an organization in which the following are common place:
Sadly, none of those so endowed felt they could actually complain to HR because Giles had threatened them with wage decreases or layoffs. This is unacceptable and to know that for four years, the company has continued to turn a blind eye--enough is enough. I should have tendered this resignation three years ago. I hoped things would improve. When the VP came through the other day, I thought he would see the behavior and address it. Unfortunately, if he did see it, he simply ignored it and left just as jovially as he came in.
I hope you will take into consideration my words within this resignation letter and make it a point to address the issues at hand. For the sake of your business. Others may not be as I and take you to court over Giles' behavior.
Sincerely,
K. Dance
P.S. I must also thank you, not only for the five years of employment, but also for taking all the fucks I gave about corporate America.
Well. There it is. My letter of resignation. Normally, I wouldn't write it that way, but when shit keeps piling up, there's no reason to continue the niceties. Just lay it bare for the world to see. I get real short with the ones who just think they're better than everyone else simply because they're in charge or they're male or whatever. Poor Tanya...she was let go because she tried to stand up for herself. The sole supporter of three kids. I may employ her as my personal assistant. She is a master scheduler and amazing on the phone. Me? Not so much. My phone voice is rather...what's the best term. Hmmm...well, it'd be kinda like talking to an angry lion. With Tanya, it's like you're talking to the sweetest angel in the universe. But, ya make her mad, and hoo-boy! Honey badger don't care! She will mess your shit up, man. I still have a bruise from her "joking" slug three weeks ago.
Mental note: Offer Tanya job.
Then there was Jocie. Jocelyn Tobias. She was born Frederick Tobias, but knew from the start that she was in the wrong body. Her parents were pretty great, too. They treated her like a girl from the moment she started showing the signs of being one. She was saving up money for the surgery--until Giles found out. He had her fired. I think she told me he said it was a lack of performance, but we all knew better. Jocie out performed everyone. She was just that damn good. She's at another company, making twice what she made here, and is in the leadership track for a management position. Good on her! She was real cute, too.
Mental note: Call Jocie and see how she's doing.
I could go on about the people Giles mistreated. When HR came in with a new performance review system--something called a 360 or something, anyway--no one was willing to fill it out for Giles. Except me and other straight, white males. I told it how it was. He was a shitty manager with no people skills and an attitude of entitlement that stank up the place. Somehow, though, my reviews always "got lost" and no one ever saw them. I wonder how that could possibly happen, he said sarcastically. God, I hate that place.
But, my life is moving forward after today. My certs are in and finished. I'm officially licensed. I can open my own private detective agency. Why private dick, you ask? So I can take down men like Giles for women like Jocie and Tanya. Speaking of...
ring ring "Hey, Tanya. How y'doin'? Yeah? Still no work, eh? How are the babies? Oh, man. Hey, tell ya what. I'm in the area, lemme bring you and the kids some lunch. I have a proposition for you and I'd love to get your feedback. Sound good? Yeah? Okay, see you in 20 minutes."
I'd gone over my resignation letter for some time. I wanted to be professional, just in case the whole self-employment thing didn't work out, but I needed to get my point across that respect is earned not demanded--and, if one expects respect, one needs to be respectful. "A man who has friends must also be friendly," and other pithy sayings dating back to ancient times.
This was the fifteenth draft.
To Whom it May Concern:
As of today, I am tendering my resignation from the company. Over the past five years I have been in your employ, I have found that management seems to offer a certain disregard for humanity. I can not support an organization in which the following are common place:
- harassment of women
- harassment of coloreds
- harassment of LGBTQs
- harassment of anyone not conforming to societal "norms"
Sadly, none of those so endowed felt they could actually complain to HR because Giles had threatened them with wage decreases or layoffs. This is unacceptable and to know that for four years, the company has continued to turn a blind eye--enough is enough. I should have tendered this resignation three years ago. I hoped things would improve. When the VP came through the other day, I thought he would see the behavior and address it. Unfortunately, if he did see it, he simply ignored it and left just as jovially as he came in.
I hope you will take into consideration my words within this resignation letter and make it a point to address the issues at hand. For the sake of your business. Others may not be as I and take you to court over Giles' behavior.
Sincerely,
K. Dance
P.S. I must also thank you, not only for the five years of employment, but also for taking all the fucks I gave about corporate America.
Well. There it is. My letter of resignation. Normally, I wouldn't write it that way, but when shit keeps piling up, there's no reason to continue the niceties. Just lay it bare for the world to see. I get real short with the ones who just think they're better than everyone else simply because they're in charge or they're male or whatever. Poor Tanya...she was let go because she tried to stand up for herself. The sole supporter of three kids. I may employ her as my personal assistant. She is a master scheduler and amazing on the phone. Me? Not so much. My phone voice is rather...what's the best term. Hmmm...well, it'd be kinda like talking to an angry lion. With Tanya, it's like you're talking to the sweetest angel in the universe. But, ya make her mad, and hoo-boy! Honey badger don't care! She will mess your shit up, man. I still have a bruise from her "joking" slug three weeks ago.
Mental note: Offer Tanya job.
Then there was Jocie. Jocelyn Tobias. She was born Frederick Tobias, but knew from the start that she was in the wrong body. Her parents were pretty great, too. They treated her like a girl from the moment she started showing the signs of being one. She was saving up money for the surgery--until Giles found out. He had her fired. I think she told me he said it was a lack of performance, but we all knew better. Jocie out performed everyone. She was just that damn good. She's at another company, making twice what she made here, and is in the leadership track for a management position. Good on her! She was real cute, too.
Mental note: Call Jocie and see how she's doing.
I could go on about the people Giles mistreated. When HR came in with a new performance review system--something called a 360 or something, anyway--no one was willing to fill it out for Giles. Except me and other straight, white males. I told it how it was. He was a shitty manager with no people skills and an attitude of entitlement that stank up the place. Somehow, though, my reviews always "got lost" and no one ever saw them. I wonder how that could possibly happen, he said sarcastically. God, I hate that place.
But, my life is moving forward after today. My certs are in and finished. I'm officially licensed. I can open my own private detective agency. Why private dick, you ask? So I can take down men like Giles for women like Jocie and Tanya. Speaking of...
ring ring "Hey, Tanya. How y'doin'? Yeah? Still no work, eh? How are the babies? Oh, man. Hey, tell ya what. I'm in the area, lemme bring you and the kids some lunch. I have a proposition for you and I'd love to get your feedback. Sound good? Yeah? Okay, see you in 20 minutes."
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