Grief Stages

I just read yesterday somewhere (it was apparently the Wall Street Journal - what have I become?) that grief processing takes 2 years, no less but possibly more, no matter what. I did the math, and yep, that seems about right.

You see, in 2009 it all blew apart. The job I thought I would be able to leverage forever was "eliminated" by my big box employer. I smashed my camera, stared at the sky, accepted underemployment, and got cancer. Just last summer, I stopped shaking my fist at the building every time I drove by. Now I realize, I feel at home in the vicinity again, instead of like some unworthy interloper who had been cast out of the temple and was about to get caught bringing flower offerings to the vengeful idols.

But, out of the rubble we built new structures. I sure wouldn't wish it on anyone else (well, I do still have ONE revenge fantasy, but let's not focus on that right now) but it turned out okay. Maybe even better than okay. I no longer wish it had never happened. It's completely neutral.

That being said, I do find it interesting that losing my job was more traumatic for me than cancer. Granted, I had "easy" cancer (in fact, I read somewhere else today that it might have been advisable to have used the watchful waiting approach instead of the removal of my little thyroid gland, but now I have nuclear melt-down super powers, right?). But my image of myself as a productive member of society with a respectable job was more important to me than (the image of) my own health. Ridiculous.

So what is it about our "careers" that we are so attached to? Is it because we feel that we have built something, that all of our success is entirely due to our efforts and skills and personality? I can see that, but there's this other evidence that it's dumb luck and timing and privilege and we don't really control it much at all.

I like money. I mean, who doesn't? But I'm starting to discover the edges of what is and is not important to me. When I see those "in power" unable to see the lies they live and enforce, it makes me a little nervous. How am I participating in their delusions? Do I go through the motions, or I do perform real service?

So, I guess this is the internal ramblings of my work existential crisis. What does it all mean? Did we just show up to collect some checks? Or are we going to DO something? How can I willfully offer my whole heart and intellect, knowing that it can be thrown away on a whim?

But that's what I have to do. I have to give it my all, always. I guess the good news is, it will only take 2 years to recover.

5 signs that things are turning around

1. So the loss of my notebooks means that I got to start a new one. I purchased a lovely pink Leuchtturm1917 notebook. Instead of "catching up" the imaginary future reader on all the recent tribulations, I wrote about the desired future. And that has made all the difference.

2. The bucket on Gull Road has been disappeared. There has been a food service style white plastic bucket in the gutter at Gull Road and Harrison since December or January. I observed it every day on my way home from work every day. It had been moved to the park for a while, but yesterday it had either blown or been moved back to the gutter. Today, gone.

3. Yes, I could have picked up the bucket myself. It's just one of those things you don't fully realize until it's over. The bucket was a symbol of the status quo? I was never good at symbolism.

4. Spring is coming.

5. The 5th sign is that I am enjoying the optimistic viewpoint, maybe more than I should. But who wants Gloomy Gus at the party? We kicked that guy out. We will go forward, with flower wreaths. Or whatever we can find.