Cheap entry…NinjaDog apologizes

Yo peeps.

I’m sorry I’ve been adrift in the sea of unblogging.  The good news is it’s because I’ve been really busy in awesome ways.  I promise to row back to Marina del Write soon.

In the meantime, I’m really excited to say I have my business name (almost)!

Thank you to all of you for giving me ideas and encouragment.  Thanks especially to Elaine Eddinger who pushed me to wait for my AHA moment and for Deidre Ericksen for thinking about it as much as I did!  And of course, to Kim, who was here for me when I had my moment and cheered!

From this day forward, my business shall be called NinjaDog!

Trouble is…that URL is taken.  So Kim and I did a little brainstorming and research and came up with some words to complete the name.

If you’ll bear with me just one more time, I would love to know what you think about the choices below…so obviously, the full name will be NinjaDog_____

Happy voting!

I’m Exactly Where I’m S’posed to Be

I have a little confession to make.  Remember how I said  my goal was to get out of the house every day?  Yeah.  That was cute.

I’ve managed to leave (not counting dog walks) 5 out of 9 days so far.  That’s over .500, which is decent for my Fantasy Football teams (at least at this point in the season), but on the “I’m totally well-adjusted” scale, it’s teetering dangerously close to “may not make playoffs.”  Luckily, I’m on an upward trajectory now that I have an actual contracted gig.

Today was the second day I spent with Tina, AIDS/LifeCycle’s new Recruitment Manager.  We hired her before I left, but her first day didn’t come until after I was gone, so they brought me back as a consultant to train her. What a great experience so far!  Bart and Michael let me create the entire training plan, and they leave us alone for four hours every day, which is a good enough chunk to make a dent in our list…well, at least they TRY to leave us alone.

The thing about the ALC office in LA is that it’s built (literally and figuratively) on an open floor plan concept. There are a few offices around the outside, but the majority of the staff have desks in the “bullpen–” a bunch of workstations situated around a conference table.  This configuration has led to tremendous collaboration (both planned and spontaneous), it’s helped feedback to be shared and help to be rendered easily and immediately, and it’s allowed the staff members to understand one another since there aren’t any physical boundaries to hide nuance or non-verbals.  For better or worse, everything’s kinda just out there for everyone to see.   I personally think this set up has greatly contributed to the free flow of ideas, innovation, and productivity. Yes, there are drawbacks and some of those have started outweighing the advantages.  Nonetheless, the open space has allowed the staff to form real relationships with each other and their work. And in a business such as this–getting people to ride their bikes 545 miles over 7 days and raise $3,000–it’s all about relationships. Starting with the staff.

But I digress.  More on that and maybe how it’s now changing later.  The whole reason I bring it up is to say even if people try or want to, there aren’t many truly “closed door” meetings.  And that was true this week as I met with Tina.  But I very much enjoy it.  It’s probably because I come from a big family, full of constant movement and chaos.  It’s no coincidence that I landed at ALC and loved it for as long as I did…(still do).

This week has been like returning to my family after college–except I wasn’t gone long enough for them to have turned my bedroom into a gameroom.  Tina and I met in “Sarah’s-office-I-mean-her-old-office-I-mean-the-new-AD’s-office,” and the door stayed open for much of our meeting time.  That meant Marni, Allison, Kerry, or whoever could pop in with questions whenever they had them.  It meant Michael could shout out one of his favorite questions to the office, “you want anything from 7-11,” and we could pipe up with our orders…and then have him join us for a little brainstorming.

I loved it.  Every chaotic-I-never-know-but-really-totally-know-what’s-going-to-happen-next moment.  Every  try-to-create-and-respect-new-boundaries-but-really-just-make-fun-of-each-other moment.  And more than any other kind, every-I’m-completely-present-with-you-in-this-moment.

Tina and I shared knowledge and experiences–I filled her in on ALC history and gave her the lowdown on the who, what, where, why of this new position and she threw down her management philosophies, training ideas, and strategic vision.

It was exactly the role I was looking to play for ALC.  The one I knew I could do.  The one I WANTED to do.  I felt free and helpful and creative.  It was truly, truly awesome.

And even if the opportunity goes no further than the last day of this contract (next Thursday), the point is this: I’m here because I took a chance.  I noticed the ways in which I had changed over the years…noticed that my role as AD wasn’t totally playing to my strengths anymore (and therefore, I wasn’t giving the position everything it needed).  Then I figured out how I wanted to change things so I *could* contribute in a role that was better for me (and–yes–therefore better for ALC).  I had no idea if it could be done–either from ALC standpoint or mine.  I had volumes of excuses and fear stacking up, but basically, I doused them in gasoline, torched them and just made it happen.

And here I sit today–giving 100% to my 4 hour shifts, giving the very best of myself and making room for someone else to give theirs.  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that honest and effective at work.

The full story is longer than that, but not much more complicated.  But that, as they say, is a tale for another time.  Meanwhile, I’ll be hanging out right here–exactly where I’m s’posed to be.

Pure Michigan

I wrote this awhile ago…maybe 5 years?  It’s about my love of campfires that exists only because my parents, aunts, and uncles knew it was important to make camping a huge part of all of our lives from birth.  Camping on our family land in Michigan has shaped us all, and actually has inspired more than just me over the years to write.  I am completely indebted to my elders for instilling these values of tradition, family, and appreciation of nature…

This is not just about camping in Michigan; it’s about what happens every time I’m around a fire with people I love.  When I started high school, the fall marching band schedule made it difficult for me to make the trips. Then it was college.  And then it was living across the country.

Last year, I figured it out, though.  After more than sixteen years of being away from the Michigan woods that raised me just like one of the silver birches that rise out of its boggy swamps, I returned with my family.  And did it again this year–just about a month ago.  This is a tiny tribute to that.

 

Feels perfect to post on a rainy night like tonight.

 

I think I really love the experience of  playing hard all day, working up a sweat, enjoying the unspeakable places this world has to offer–if only people would get out of their cars–and then coming back to camp.  I love the way a campsite looks just before the sun starts to set–so quiet, so still, low, rich sunlight pouring in shafts through the trees…distant smoke coming from another site…just moments away from becoming its own bustling kitchen.  So then, it begins.

The way that dinner is made in a campsite is the way it should be made everynight: in community and with a heightened consciousness for the earth.  Everyone takes a job: some sit down to examine the firering and start building the structure of kindling.  Others bring an axe and go in search of fallen wood (definitely NOT the way in state or national parks; a small tell l I grew up on a private site?).  The unmistakable hydraulic whisper that announces the opening of car trunks and coolers and then the creativity truly is unleashed.

We take risks with food we normally wouldn’t and discover new favorite dishes that–no matter how hard we try–can never quite seem to duplicate once we get home.  We experiment and improvise with what we have–making beans or stew becomes a loving zen meditation.  Plates double as cutting boards, and sticks as utensils.  We use beer bottles for paperweights and–as my brother Jacob invented in San Onofre–lanterns.  The fire catches and works its smoky hands into everything we make… by the time the group returns with huge offerings of wood from the forest, dinner is almost ready.

Chairs and benches are scootched up and coolers double as tables.  Or some just choose to balance their dinner precariously on two knees, plate steaming into the firelight, which, by now, is the only thing illuminating the site.  The cooking grill is removed from the fire and another log is added.  The dogs circle around, panting, hoping for their own, and everything tastes like it was born there.  The qualities that food takes on when cooked on an open fire by many hands cannot be recreated in any other setting.  Compliments to the chefs are passed around like the salt that’s not needed, as firelight dances off everyone’s cheeks and eyes and people take turns scooping second and third helpings onto already soggy, collapsing plates.  Our stories and jokes replay the day’s events and they join the sparks to float up into the stars.  The dark that encases the rest of the site helps us forget there are others out there, until we hear their own muffled voices behind the trees and maybe catch a glimpse of their tiny teardrop of a fire (a small tell my camping experience goes beyond our private site).

One by one, as everyone accepts they can fit no more into those bundled-up bellies, they pitch in and start the clean up process.  All paper gets thrown into the fire, and we watch the dinner plates get twisted and warped until they give in and let the fire take them.  Pots are filled with soap and water to soak until bedtime and all food is wrapped up, folded, clipped, rubber banded, ziplocked, or tupperwared and thrown back into the coolers or cars, lest we wake up in the morning to find it sopping.

And then…finally…it’s time to relax.  By now, it usually feels like midnight, but it’s probably only nine or so.  Full stomachs are stretched out on lawn chairs, fresh beers pop open, and packets of hot chocolate are ripped open, the powder wafting up noses.  Maybe cigars or cigarettes (or some other types of treat) come out…sometimes ghost stories, sometimes music…but what I love most about sitting around a fire is being able to let it take me….

There’s no denying it–once you look into a fire; once you commit with your eyes–there’s no turning back.  It’s so intense that it confuses the senses–is it that white orange glow or the heat that I see…or is it feel?  Flames too hot and wide-reaching create the atmosphere of the lowest part of the fire–just above the embers that are so far into it, they don’t even look like they’re on fire.  It’s like a little world in there….and then, the higher you go, the more the flames separate into different entities, each taking their turns at licking the night sky.  I could–and usually do–submit my gaze as an offering to the fire for most of the night.  I’ll occasionally look away to watch fingers move across a guitar, memorize someone’s face as they tell their favorite story for the hundredth time, or to identify Orion, but it won’t be for long.  The fire…it pulls me back.

So then, as the log pile dwindles into the last one being thrown on and burned down into just bits of glowing red, the sleep shuffle begins.  Zooooops of tent doors and backpacks and illuminated nylon pods herald the closing of another day.  Another wonderful, fantastic day.  And so, reluctantly, the last person out waits for the right moment, takes one last swallow of beer, pfffffffssssssttttt–throws the rest on the fire–and calls it a night.

The real deal--the campfire in MI last month

Sprinting Into a Brick Wall

First off, thanks for the ongoing voting for my business name.  So far, we have 18 votes with a 3-way tie for first. I’d say there isn’t anything that’s standing out to people.  I’m going to keep thinking, but keep the poll up until I figure it out.  Feel free to continue the dialogue.

Now then…onto the state of the union.

I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of this new little life I have here!  I have to admit, last week was a little frenzied.  Coming off a pace like we had at ALC made it impossible to slow down.  Funny as that sounds, and as ready as I thought I was, it was kind of like sprinting into a brick wall.  Bit of a shock.  Even though I had all of these visions of doing things on my own schedule and mixing personal tasks into my works (like day trips to the grocery store so I can spend 5 hours making dinner from scratch and being writerly at local coffee shops with my scarf and laptop), I didn’t do any of it.  For starters, I don’t even have a laptop yet.  But I already knew that going into last week.  There was plenty more I didn’t anticipate, like how crafty the dogs are.

Look–they are needy and kind of neurotic, and I generally give into it because what do I care if they sit all over me while I hang out and watch TV after work?  I didn’t really think Piko’s incessant pawing at my hoodie so he can be let in and zipped up or Kali’s obsession with sitting in my lap while I type would carry over.  I figured I’d just announce it was time for me to work, they’d give a little nod that said “quite right!  Cheerio then!” and off they’d trot to their own little corners and sleep the day away while I pondered and crafted.  Ha.  That’s a bloody good one.  What really happened is this: Sammy got tired of watching Kali get all the good lap time, so she finally got over herself and started jumping up, too (the dog mom in me isn’t even mad; that’s amazing.  She’s a timid little thing, so her doing that by herself was actually quite an accomplishment).  Meanwhile, Piko had his spot in the hoodie.  Just as I had successfully figured out how to contort myself in such a way that I could still type while holding all three of them (what’s up swivel chair and wireless keyboard?), I heard Delilah chomping away in the bedroom.  The little sneaky little (and by “little,” I mean “big”) sheister made a break for it and started eating all the little dogs’ food.  I stood up, sending chihuahuas flying, and shut down the pit bull buffet with great vigor.  And then the Tetris game of getting the 3 pack and their attitudes to fit back on the chair began again.  Yep–that took a good 2 hours.  Every day.

But today is much better.  For one, I used this weekend to get caught up on all of the memoir classwork for Basement Writing Workshop I was so behind in because of the last couple of weeks at ALC.  I think I literally spent about 12 hours throughout Friday and Saturday on it, but it felt awesome to buckle down and DO it. For two, the dogs and I have come an understanding finally.  They actually are all curled up (at least for the next 3 minutes.  Is this what it’s like to be a mom?  Try to cram as much as you can into naptime?  Tiptoe across the house when you have to pee?)

 

The dogs say hi

 

What I’m trying to figure out now, though, (and I’m pondering this with my fellow classmates) is HOW to write. Do I make it a point to write every day about something no matter what (part of why I started this blog, I suppose)…possibly churning out crap not even fit for a Berkeley compost bin or do I sit around and wait for inspiration to strike, greatly increasing the probability that it’s actually readable?  In other words–is it a skill I need to practice or is it an art/gift I need to be open to and ready to respond to at all times?  Thoughts from the peanut gallery?

I’m sure it’s a little of both.  What I DO know is that it’s a luxury that I even get a chance to figure it out.  I get to wake up in a lovely October gloom that makes me want to hunker down and tap away at the keyboard–and to get to DO it!  I’m getting to experience the letting go of the panic of trying to meet monthly goals so I can take up the panic of not being a good writer.

Wow.  I’m sitting here, close to tears…not because of I’m afraid I won’t be a good writer (though I am totally petrified), but because it’s hitting me full on.  I am so lucky to be here.  I am so lucky to have had family and friends that have encouraged and cheered my writing on for decades–that they knew I was a writer before I did and told me so.  I am so lucky that I have an unbeliveably supportive girlfriend who–no matter how concerned she is about bills or my socialization–hasn’t let on, but rather, done nothing but remove every obstacle for me so I could do this.  I am lucky that my parents, who probably have the exact same concerns, have only said, “we’re so proud of you!  You are ready for this!”

I am lucky that I had an employer and a staff who understood and gave me more of a send off than I really deserved…and more importantly, that they lovingly and genuinely bestowed upon me tools I can actually pay those bills with while I’m cobbling together my dream.

I’m lucky that I have a muse–a beautiful, real, irreplaceable muse who is always with me.

I’m just so lucky.

The tears have risen and spilled on over, misty and thick as this Santa Monica afternoon.

 

What’s Easier to Name–a Baby or a Business?

Naming things is tough, unless you’re that guy on Facebook who said his sister promised to name her baby Megatron if he procured a million fans (which he did, and there seems to be some uncertainty over whether dear ol’ sis made good on her word).

I’ve been trying to figure out what to call my consulting biz…and of course, this is significantly driven by what URLs are available (something entrepeneurs of 50 years ago didn’t have to consider–weird little sign of the times, eh?).

I’m hoping you all can weigh in.  Vote for the ones that strike you; the ones YOU could picture yourself calling/saying in a meeting or something.  I want it to be a little edgy-ish/evoke creativity and collaboration.  I haven’t solidified my “menu of services,” but here’s a lot of the offerings I can consult/coach on:

• Fundraising/Development
• Event Production/Support
• Project Management
• Personnel Management
• Marketing (specialize in internet)
• Writing, Editing, and Communications
• Resumes and Interviewing
• Teambuilding
• Mission/vision building
• Trend identification and innovation

And if nothing strikes you, say that too and/or suggest something that does.  Like I said, the pickins are slim, but I’ll find the right one.

Thanks!

And PS–I realize I’m taking a risk by making my ideas (however tiny) public before I actually cash in on one, but I figure if some jerkhole steals the winner, I’ll just give up and call it Skeletor.

I Fooled Them. And an unrelated image.

I just got home from spending a lovely evening with my friends over at ALC.  Ah, it is such a treat to have worked alongside people I have grown to love so much.  Of course, now it’s an even bigger treat that I can skip all the work and go straight to the fun part. See–while all the ALC staffers were hard at work today at their “retreat” aka, “wall-to-wall-yes-even-a-working-lunch-meetings,” I was writing, editing, and playing referee in the dogs’ daily game of “whose bone is it, anyway.”  And then, I STILL got to enjoy a delicious dinner in a beautiful home and sit around the fire with everyone as though I deserved it.

The fire felt great, but I was already warm from the inside out.  I am so lucky to be where I am.  Somehow, I’ve tricked them into thinking I’m cool or somehow useful enough to keep around for a little while.  Yes, it’s true.  I think I might be back on the ALC payroll.  We’re still hammering out the final details, but it looks like I just scored my first consulting gig–with ALC.  4 days a week, 4 hours each day, for 2 weeks.  Score!  Ha–fooled them!  So I’m not really going anywhere after all.  I’ll be back in the office on Monday.  But don’t think I’m giving back any of these presents.

Speaking of presents, I got a big pile of books as gifts tonight, and I can’t wait to read them.  I figure part of being a good writer is being a good reader…so…it’s kind of my job to lounge around and immerse myself in other people’s words.  What’s that, Kim?  You need me to walk the dogs?  Sorry.  See how my face is in this book?  It means I’m working.  Hm?  What’dya say?  You need me to yoink our burning dinner off the stove?  Hm.  I have fifty pages to go.  Sorry.  I’m professionally developing–with myself.  If it was up to me, you KNOW I’d be right there with you, weeding and watering our lawn.  Look–I don’t make these rules.  But I DO respect them.

Anyway, my point is that I’ve always loved reading and books, and I’m beyond happy that I have a few in my collection that have come as gifts from some of my coworkers-best friends-family members (“cobestmembers?”).  That’s really what tonight felt like; a family gathering.

I was good at appreciating being a part of that group of people while I was; but having just the slightest bit of distance has allowed me to enjoy it all the more.  Maybe distance isn’t it.  Maybe it’s just the clearing away of what I couldn’t successfully manage anymore.  The last year of my job was so stressful for me.  I was so affected.  I blamed (and maybe still blame) a lot on the job itself.  But I know that at least half of it is how I responded to it (more on that in later blogs).

Breaking away from that role has already changed my physiology.  I’m sleeping and eating better…my heart rate stays steady (no more racing)…I don’t get my daily headaches (the bottle of Alleve I had on my desk at work remains packed in the boxes I took out of my office on Friday)…and I just feel lighter.  And that lightness makes room for me to truly love and enjoy these guys even more; this family I have somehow been fortunate enough in which to find myself.

And by “find myself,” I mean “figure out who I am…what I do best…what I want and make it happen.”  And that’s what I’ve done.  And I’ve gotten the best of everything, and I’m still astounded by it.  There was a time I didn’t think I could pull this off (I’ll tell you that story tomorrow), but here I am.  And I get to do it with a bunch of people who know each other so well that it just feels like home.

I’m still waiting for someone to discover I’m an imposter…to realize that I’ve pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes…that I’ve overstayed my welcome.  But so far, everyone’s playing along.  In that case–as I can get away with it, I will.

 

 

PS–totally unrelated to anything.  I purchased my very own Horrible Logo, and it came today.  Behold, the glory!  You can also view this amazing piece of shit on the Horrible Logo website.  And while you’re there, check the other freakishly ugly designs.  Click on them and they’ll take you to places you never knew existed.

I paid 10 bucks for this piece of crap

 

Frozen Snoopies and the gays

It hasn’t really sunk in yet that I’m not going back to the office.  I still kind of feel like I’m on vacation–except there aren’t any fruity drinks (unless you count the “Frozen Snoopies”* we had Sunday night with Kim and Jen) and the only natural beauty I’ve been taking in is the Money Tree and Bamboo sitting on my desk (thanks, ALC staff!).

*Frozen Snoopies=the alcoholic version of the frozen treats yielded by a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine.  Since the cups are the size of my thumb, you REALLY have to crank out a lot to keep the party going. Though a relic of the 80s, SSCMs are making a huge comeback.  I found mine at Barnes and Noble recently.

 

The day Snoopy and I found each other again

 

 

Thing is…I’ve been really busy.  I didn’t specifically plan it that way, but I’m glad it happened.  A lot of people have been encouraging me to take some time off between my two lives…to take a break; relax.  But so far, I haven’t.  And you know what?  I feel more rested than ever.  Course, I’ve only been at this 2 days…

But what a mighty two days they’ve been!

Yesterday, I organized all of my Bark and consulting stuff in a separate Gmail account and followed up on all of our outstanding stuff (anyone out there have any tips on how to shake down a media monster who owes us money??), successfully confused the dogs (um, shouldn’t you be leaving the house sometime, lady?), stalked my blog stats every 20 minutes (good thing I’m not developing an unhealthy obsession), and attended a session with Janet Hicks, animal communicator (no–that’s for real), and fielded only 2 calls from ALC (Michael ended his call abruptly with “My tab’s up to thirty-eight dollars–gotta go!”).  Also, out of habit, I checked my ALC email.  Not sure why; I didn’t do anything with what I saw there.  What I didn’t do?  Check the ALC Facebook page.

That is one threshold I haven’t been able to cross.  After being a driving force behind it (again–humble, I know), I’ve been equally afraid that no one is tending to it, and that plenty of people are.  I know it’s being well taken care of because I follow the ALC Twitter feed, which is synced to FB, and my phone was dinging all day. That makes me super happy (good job, guys), but still–I can’t bring myself to that page for fear of getting sucked in…or maybe feeling too much like an outsider?  Not sure.

Today was pretty much a full-on writing day.  Kim and I are in the middle of a secret process (more to come when I have something I can tell), and we have a deadline tomorrow, so I was cranking stuff out like crazy.  It felt good.  I loved being able to hammer away at the keyboard for hours at a time, blissfully unaware of the world spinning madly on outside (well…I call it blissfully unaware; Kim calls it depressing and hermit-like: “have you had the blinds closed all day?”)

The other thing that happened today is I talked to an old friend of mine who, after 16 years of teaching at the same school, is getting forced out because of “accusations that he’s gay.”  He hasn’t decided what he’s going to do yet (fight it, go public, let it drop), so I won’t reveal his identity, but I’ve got a thread up on my Facebook page seeking advice for him.  Thanks to all who have contributed so far.  It’s such terrible irony that in the midst of the latest anti-LGBT bullying, here’s an adult facing just that.  He may be stuck in a little town somewhere in the middle of this country, but there’s a whole crowd of LA peeps who have his back.  And I know that means a lot. And one day, he’ll be able to say with confidence and an unmistakable flair that will confirm in no uncertain terms that why, yes–heavens to Dorothy, he is gay–and honey, it really truly DOES Get Better–even if he has wait until he has 10 other job offers to prove it.

Day 1–commence!

Well, it’s 8:22 and I’m awake and at the computer on my first day of unwork.  I think that’s a good sign.  I’ve been a little terrified that the vortex of my house will cause me to do things (or not, as the case may be) like:

• Sleep for a whole month straight–you know, for all those who can’t.
• Discover and succumb to  SVU, Dog the Bounty Hunter, and Iron Chef marathons, since I should probably learn how to chase a pedophile down while wearing a suit (sensible shoes are key), how to capture and then counsel meth head bond jumpers (offer a cigarette and hug them), and how to make 5 dishes using trout in under 60 minutes (break out the ice cream maker).
• Stop getting dressed because…like, what’s the point?
• Peek outside, fingers parting the blinds, to investigate strange sounds passing by in the middle of the day (since I’ll know everyone in this neighborhood and people who don’t live here shouldn’t be bothering us)
• Comment on every Facebook post ever made by any of my friends…or their friends…or their friends…
• Lose all sense of time and not care enough to find it.
• Fade into oblivion and be forgotten by everyone but Kim and the dogs.
• Make it through an entire day without uttering one word out loud (okay, that might not be so bad…)

So anyway.  You get the point.  People have been recommending that I aim to get out of the house at least once a day–doesn’t matter what I do, as long as I leave (so what I hear you saying is I should maybe take up streaking). I actually think that’s excellent advice and intend to take it–getting out of the house; not streaking.

I’ll keep you posted.  But if you don’t hear from me soon, please come peel me off the couch.

I did it.

I quit my job on Friday.

After 6 years of working for the LA Gay & Lesbian Center as part of the AIDS/LifeCycle (ALC) staff, I’m officially done.  Even though it’s something I gave a lot of thought to over a really long period of time, I still can’t believe it.

I gave notice on September 3rd, with a last day of October 8th so it would coincide with my 32nd birthday.  I thought it was somehow a good psychic offering to the universe: “I’ll make you a deal.  I’ll commit to this adventure.  I’ll go all in, make it a clean break…and in turn, you won’t fuck me over on my birthday.”  So here I am…fresh start, new leaf sufficiently turned over…if only slightly gimmicky.

So far, “retirement” is going well.  After 1.5 days of not working for ALC, I’ve fielded 1 ALC phone call, 3 ALC texts, returned 2 ALC emails, and attended 1 ALC event.  All things codependently considered, I think the cutting of the ties is going quite well…don’t you think?

I’m doing a lot better than I have been, which is to say I can make it through a conversation without breaking into sobs and emotionally vomiting all over people’s faces, and that’s something for which we can all be thankful.  I’m also thankful I heeded the advice of some very wise colleagues and gave a month.  I had originally thought maybe 3 or 4 months would be good.  I was very concerned they would need a lot of time to find someone to replace me (humble, I know) while still juggling their regular duties.  I let myself get talked down to a month, and that was hard enough as it was.  I can’t imagine anything longer.

Yes, it flew by, in terms of trying to get everything wrapped up and transitioned (as if we actually believed that was a real expectation), but it was a month filled with “Sarah’s last management meeting,” “Sarah’s last official email,” and “Sarah’s last staff lunch.”   It was a sad, tough 30 days for me, and I did not hesitate to share my process with the world via melodramatic FB status updates, which seemed totally appropriate (and obviously riveting).  I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that the six stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and Facebook.  Even though I was leaving of my own choosing, I was going to miss the freaking crap out of my coworkers, so I pretty much cried for a month solid while my mind played a gnarly game of tug of war with itself.  I felt pretty bad for my poor boss…staff…and anyone unfortunate enough to interact with me during this time–any little sarcastic remark would send me into hysterics.  We’d be talking about budgets and spreadsheets, and the next thing you knew, I’d be snorting and hyperventilating all over the phone.  It was pretty awesome.  Yep–a full 30 days of nothing but that.  Sweet.

But then on Friday night–after a last day full checklists and packing…of parties and hugs…of flowers and slideshows–it hit me. Sometime around 9:00, after my bon voyage party had been going for a few hours, a wave of exhaustion washed over me.  It came in quietly and unexpectedly, and lifted me right up and out of my open water sadness.  It carried me along for awhile and solidly deposited me into a little marina of tranquility.  A sudden stillness coated my brain and my heart quieted.  My whole being just relaxed into the reality of it all.

And as I became aware of my body literally settling into its new existence as my spirit bobbed along, things started breaking through the surface: confidence (and therefore relief) that I had made the right move came first, then hope…and then even excitement.  I had suspected this moment was coming…but I wasn’t sure when it would show up.  And it had arrived.

Yes!

It’s true!  I’m excited (SO excited) to be where I am.  I’m excited to see what’s next.  I’m excited to have no idea what I’m doing but to do it anyway.  Leap and a net will appear.  Yes.

I went to bed on Friday night, half disbelieving it really happened, and half stoked out of my mind.  But wrapped around all of that was the unmistakable calm this sea change has brought.  I am so grateful for this and everything that’s led up to it.

No matter what happens from here, one thing is true: after a lifetime of listening to my little writer’s voice beg me to pay attention to it…after years of giving 100% to a job I really loved and then losing a little steam around it…after building Bark up to a point that says “either jump all the way in or get out,” I did.

I did it.