10,000 Maybes

Maybe I'm impatient.

Maybe I'm a perfectionist.

Maybe I'm a control freak.

Maybe I'm eager.

Maybe I'm intolerant.

Maybe I'm an idealist.

Maybe I'm hard on myself.

Maybe I'm too analytical.

Maybe I'm unwilling to wait.

Maybe I'm stubborn.

Maybe I'm unable to see tomorrow.

Maybe I'm antsy.

Maybe I'm used to things coming easily.

Maybe I'm frustrated.

Maybe I'm losing it.

Maybe I'm lonely.

Maybe I'm bored.

Maybe I'm pessimistic.

Maybe I'm tired of myself.

Maybe I'm annoying.

Maybe I'm abnormal.


Maybe I just need to know when it will stop hurting so much.

I'm Just Not There, Yet

I've been asked a lot lately why I haven't been writing. There are several answers to that very complicated question, and my normal storytelling self would want to get into them all, but the simple truth is this:

I haven't felt like it. I'm just not there. Yet.

It is not that I don't miss the feeling of a great post, when the words are spilling out of me faster than I can type them, or the reactions that your amazing comments provide me, or the increasing pride I feel as I realize that people are actually affected by, amused by, or intrigued by the silly, mundane, casual life observations I make.

But, I'm just not myself lately.

On the upside, there have been some good things. Christmas was wonderful with my family and my sister's lovely boyfriend. We lounged, ate homecooked meals, watched movies, fixed computer issues, went to church, shopped, saw a movie, enjoyed the 60 degree days with walks around the neighborhood, played board games and opened gifts with relish.

New Year's Eve was far more fun than I could have hoped for, and included dressing in 1920s garb for a speakeasy party in a renovated warehouse on Randolph Street. The party hosts had planned for rides home, and the warm sedan has never been more welcome. I ushered in the new year with a kiss and a toast with my friends. Unlike years past, the tick tock of the clock at midnight was a blessing, not a curse.

The Bulldogs got a win at their bowl game on New Year's Day. The birthday gifted tickets to "Wicked" were wonderful, and the show didn't disappoint. The snow couldn't put a damper on the celebration that entire weekend. For my birthday in Chicago, the girls and I closed down dinner at the lovely Jane's restaurant in Bucktown, and owned Marie's Riptide for several hours dominated by silly songs on the jukebox and cheap drinks from an 80 year-old bartender. All in all, my birthday was a week-long celebration with family and friends, and I feel so fortunate to be loved by so many, and so deeply. I ate well, drank well, dressed up and danced like no one was watching. Despite the 394 photos I know were taken to prove otherwise.

Lately, the job search is getting better, so that is a plus. I have two final last round "chemistry check" interviews this week, with two very different agencies, and am feeling like an offer is near. I also have two other interviews, one as a follow-up to a phone interview in early December, and one that is a "let's get creative and find a position for you because you're great" kind of thing. So, overall, this week could be it for the job search. I may actually get to open the bottle of Vueve Cliquot champagne that I've been saving for this occasion. The toast I will make, after twelve weeks without employment, will be with gusto and meaning.

On the downside, winter has been rough the past few weeks. It has been cold, bitter, disastrous, brutal, disheartening and far beyond any definition of cold that Webster's has ever drafted. It has sucked. Lucky for me, I haven't had to leave the couch all that often in the sub-zero temps. My car has remained put in the toasty warm garage, and my condo has never been cleaner.

But, the combination of the post-holiday blues, the unemployment blues and the winter blues is enough to make anyone feel not quite like themselves.

Frankly, I'd love to blame it on that.

The bitter truth is this: I'm heartbroken.

I won't divulge the personal, raw or painful details, but the fact is that I'm not quite myself in this role. I'm good at being the optimist. The positive thinker. The generous friend. The compassionate buddy. The loving and generous girlfriend.

I'm not good at being the one left behind. With so many questions. And so few answers.

I don't know how to begin. I'm waiting for the day when it isn't the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep. I'm anticipating the moment when I can almost forget the pain.

I feel raw, opened up, exposed, vulnerable and ripped apart at the seams. I ache. I burn. I tire from running through all of the memories. I have forced myself to delete the images from my digital photo frame, to relieve myself of the 'kick in the gut' feeling that I had every time I entered the kitchen, faced with the past year of my life.

While I'm happy to recall the good times, they are the most painful of all. So much was good, rewarding, loving, kind, fun, hilarious, silly, comforting, generous, familiar, unfamiliar, new, fantastic, crazy, friendly, familial and great. But, apparently, that wasn't enough.

I'm ready to feel better. I'm anxious to feel normal. I desire to move on.

But, I'm just not there yet.

So, forgive my silence. My bitterness. My complete and total lack of ability to write about something else. Something funny, absurd, mundane and normal.

I'm just not there yet.

This too shall pass. Time will heal. Everything happens for a reason. Good things come to those who wait. I deserve someone who loves me fully, without abandon, devoid of reservation, as much as I do them.

Blah blah fricking blah.

I know this.

I'm just not there yet.

So, please—respectfully, painfully, honestly—I beg you.

Spare me the cliches. Save the "atta girl" comments. Keep the relationship advice to yourself. I can't take it. Just say hi to show your support. That is enough, for now. I'll know what you meant.

Trust me when I say that while it means a lot that so many people care, and want me to know how great I am, and how this will just be a blip on the radar someday, and how if this is not right, something else will be, and all that jazz...

I'm just not there.

Yet.

Shoe Crazy

Am I a cynic or a realist?

I keep seeing this commercial:



and all I can think of is:

How would I ever end up with matching pairs?

Would they be in my size?

And, wouldn't that dent the car?

This, my friends, is what happens when you're a trained marketer/advertiser with far too much time on your hands.

Someone take the remote away. Now.

Will Work for Food

Yes. I am alive.

I realize that after over a year of posting a blog almost every day, the last month of quiet must seem like a decade. I certainly would have to agree.

The thing is, honestly, this unemployment thing is just no fun at all. And it is loaded with cliches.

I don't resent the support, but it is a bit hard to believe anyone anymore.

Everyone keeps telling me to keep my head up (or chin, take your pick) and that something will come my way, and that doors close and windows open, and that blessings come in disguise, and that good things are just around the corner and that I should be grateful for this time off, and that I am great and super and fantastic and fabulous and the next best thing and blah blah blah.

I just don't believe it anymore.

The thing is—I like work. I like being busy. I like feeling like I'm contributing. And, I think most of all, I like feeling like I accomplished something each day. Big or small, it was just nice to feel like I achieved something after getting out of bed.

These days, a shower is a true accomplishment.

Not to say that I'm being totally lazy; no, it is more like an eternal quest to nowhere. A bridge, perhaps.

Each day, after crawling reluctantly out of bed, I toil on the computer (borrowed, and now mine) and stare at job boards, and decline sales jobs, and refresh my resume, and tweak my portfolio, and send emails to everyone I know in the industry, and inquire about any possible opportunities, and network in every way I know how, and then I start all over again.

And, I wait. I wait for the recruiter to call. I wait for the HR department to decide. I wait for the response to the email. I wait for the interviewer to come get me in the lobby. I wait for the bus afterwards and wonder how it went. I wait for the unemployment office to return my call. I wait for them to see me at the unemployment office. I wait for the weekend when other people are free to play. I wait for the call.

At the end of the day, I just don't feel accomplished. I think this is the hardest part of being unemployed, save for the long hours of no interaction that I have while toiling and waiting and toiling and waiting on my own.

It is amazing to realize that when you're employed, you identify yourself by what you do, where you work, what industry you're in, and how long you've been doing it. It is the first question that comes up at a party, and when you don't have an answer, you just feel like you're the one that showed up to the party naked. With a funny hat on your head.

I have no identity right now, and I'm bored and lonely and sick of making lists of the small house projects that I can do that don't cost anything and laundry and dishes and vacuuming and making the bed only take up so much time.

I'm going a little bit nuts, by the minute, by the day. I can't even bring myself to update my Facebook status all that regularly. What would I write? "Colleen is...still unemployed." "Colleen is sick of unemployment." "Colleen is staring at her computer." "Colleen wishes she could afford to go Christmas shopping."

Or, the most accurate, "Colleen is waiting."

And then there is the screwy unemployment office. This is the U.S. Government at work, people. I have officially only received payment for one of the last four weeks that I've been filing, and the payment was apparently for week two. Where the heck is the meager pittance for week one? Calling the offices are not productive, either, and sitting in their waiting room, you realize how many people are in this boat and that there is no chance that you're going to get called by the time they close at 5 pm. I believe that it is clear that they need more clerks—because one is just not appropriate—and ironically, I can count, uh, let's say, 400 people in the waiting room staring at you that may be willing to work here?

It is that bad.

Yep. Life as an unemployed person is just not so much fun. Therefore, I have been silent on the blog. I don't think there is much else I can say. But, with access to a computer now, I'll try to come up with something.

In the meantime, I go back to waiting. And, unfortunately, so must you.

(Mom, don't worry. I haven't made a cardboard sign just yet. I can't afford the Sharpies.)

Good Night and Good Luck

You may have been wondering where I've been. Why I've been silent for the last week or so, save an occasional post about electronics (still unsolved, by the way). Why you've not heard any great stories out of me.

That's because it has been a rough week or so.

Frankly, it has been going on longer than that, but the proverbial shit hit the fan last week.

I was laid off on Friday.

At the risk of sounding like a sycophant, I really am sad to leave that company. I harbor no ill will towards them for choosing me to be one of the latest laid off. I hold no one responsible for the situation. In fact, I credit the leadership with having tried everything they could to stave off the layoffs. To keep the wolf from the door.

Unfortunately, in this economic crisis, those efforts were not enough. Holding companies are vicious and sometimes it comes down to numbers on a spreadsheet. Times are tough and I am feeling it more than ever.

I know that the prices of gas have been at all time highs, but I don't drive my car that much. I know that groceries are costing families more and more each week, but since I am just one woman living alone, I don't feel the pinch that much.

This turn of events, however, hit me in the gut.

And, the heart.

I know that it sounds trite to say that I had found the right "place" for me, but I did. I mean it. I was really happy at that agency, and felt like I was contributing. I was learning, growing and making a difference. I enjoy the people there and respect the culture that was in effect there. It was more than "corporate speak" and lines of the employee handbook—the culture was real. It likely still is, but it has certainly taken its fair share of blows this year.

Without a doubt, I was meant to be working there. I knew it in the first interview, and it was even more confirmed in the second. I'd found a home. A family. A place where I could be the best version of me. I trusted the leadership, and found out only later how well-respected they were in the industry. I saw the rows and rows of awards the agency had won, but only realized later how good it felt to be a part of a winning team like that.

And, it was a team. As someone who spent her formative years playing team sports, I appreciate and value the very meaning of being on a team.

To me, and the others at my agency, being on a team meant dropping everything to help out a colleague. It meant pulling more than your share of weight sometimes, knowing the favor would be returned tenfold. It meant staying late some nights, and leaving early other days. It meant celebrating the wins together, and commiserating the losses together. It meant everyone doing their part to make the agency, and the work, great. It meant not ever being "above" a task, or delegating things to those deemed "below" you. It meant we were all in it together. As a team.

Interestingly, it meant doing it all without realizing you were. Making the effort while enjoying the process.

Knowing that, I ache even more for the loss. The loss I feel for not having gotten up to go to work there today. The loss I feel knowing that my books, photos, mementos and business card holder will sit on another desk soon. The loss I feel knowing that I won't be interacting with such creative and strategic geniuses, who also made me laugh on a regular basis, each day.

I will miss them, and the work we created together, more than they realize.

Here's hoping that the tide is shifting. That the worst is past. That the horizon holds a bright future. For me and for my team. Here's knowing that the family will circle in tight to protect its own. I have faith that that much is true. Good night and good luck.

As for me, I'm on to something else. Something bigger? Maybe.

Something better? I doubt it.

The bar has been set extremely high. I know what I'm looking for and what I won't settle for. I know what I deserve and what is possible. I know the types of people that I want to work for, and alongside, in my next adventure.

I just don't know their names yet.

Shift in Perspective

I have been a bit quiet this week.

You know those times when things just feel off? And bad things are happening to people around you? And you feel too much? And cry more than is normal? And your eyes feel like someone poured sand over your head and pushed your face to the ground? And your heart aches, your head hurts and overall, you just don't feel quite right?

Yeah, that was the last few days for me.

Despite having a friend in town—and we did enjoy her visit—the purpose for her being in Chicago really just put a damper on the whole thing.

She's visiting a family member who has had some really rough times of late, for health reasons, and just hearing about all that this poor woman is going through (and more precisely, those around her), gives me a little perspective.

I mean, we're talking major health crisis, which impacts her teenage daughter and older son, her loving husband of just 3 years, her extended family, her neighbors, her friends and everyone who knows her. Her finances are threatened, her job is on the line and her disability insurance may not keep up.

Worst of all, she doesn't even realize how long this has been going on. She has no idea that the entire month of June, and almost all of July, have passed by while she was in a medically induced coma. She can't talk, walk, move, gesture, bathe, eat or even breathe the way she used to. And this is a woman with an incredible personality, physical beauty, vivid life and vitality and a contagious energy. I enjoyed just being at the same table as her. And, now this.

It is hard to NOT be affected when someone you know is experiencing these kinds of lows, and it was a double whammy this week. The second incident spurned Wednesday's post about the visciousness of gossip that can wreck repuations, relationships, careers and self-esteem. I appreciate the good karma that all of your support created—strength in numbers and revenge in the truth.

However, as for me, it is time that I gain a little perspective. I need to usher up prayers and kind thoughts for those in need, and yank my self out of the frustrating, shallow rut of self-pity and sadness that can sometimes overtake an otherwise pretty darn good week.

Life is GOOD. I have so much to be thankful for, proud of, grateful for and happy about. I just need to live in the moment, turn the music up loud, give a hug, eat something delicious, celebrate the small things, realize the bliss, laugh harder and smile more.

Oh, and I may need to dance like a damn fool with my arms flinging above my head, my eyes closed and my hair hanging in my face like a greasy hippie drunk at Woodstock.

That makes everything feel better.

The Lies Hurt

I'm not feeling very funny today, and I don't have any charming stories or little observations to share.

Just this tiny little diatribe, vent and plea:

Someone very close to me has been very, deeply hurt by gossip. Widespread gossip. Hurtful, horrible, humiliating gossip. Gossip that is based on nothing but lies, misjudgment, accusations and backhandedness. Jealousy is a very ugly thing, and it makes people do very inhumane things.

I sent this person my love and support, but my heart literally breaks as I empathize with the pain and humiliation that gossip can bring. My stomach churns with the pain of knowing how hurtful this is.

So, Internet, I beg you. Please do NOT believe everything you read. Most of it is garbage, trash created and disseminated to sell magazines, make money or cause trouble. Most of it has very little to do with the truth. And, the people who associate themselves with it are just as low as you can be.

And, please silently send good karma out there into oblivion for my loved one. Today is the day for the loving and kind thoughts of strangers to lift one up from the depths of yuck.

This person knows how I feel, how much I care, and how much I faith, belief and support I have, and for that, I am proud.

Nasty gossip, and authors/spreaders of it, be damned. You'll get your due.

The Other Side

I often write about the silly, funny, amusing or generally odd occurrences that I observe while using public transportation here in Chicago. I like those stories. The ones that make you feel good, proud to live in a big city like this, excited by the energy, the crowds and the passing of life.

Today's post is not that type of story.

I was riding the Red Line down to a friend's house, and we got on the train at Addison heading south.

The train was somewhat full, so I walked through the train car to find two seats together. We sat, and only then did we notice a young twenty-something girl hunched over, sleeping/passing out, drool hanging from her lips, crushed eyeglasses and a soda at her feet, and a bookbag to her left.

She was more than "napping" on the train. She was full-fledged passing out, and I don't mean the type of "passing out" you see where it is a homeless person riding the train to stay warm.

This girl was clearly going somewhere, or had begun a trip with those intentions, but now she was just a mess. A train wreck, if you'll excuse the unintended pun. Her hair was a slimy, tangly mess, though her clothes were clean and matching. It was a sad dichotomy to witness—someone whose appearance didn't really seem to match her behavior.

With her eyes closed, mouth hanging agape, she kept nodding into the bar of the seat in front of her, and was just lolling forward, and then back, and the forward again. She was completely out of it, unaware of her body or the stares she was receiving.

My friend and I tried not to stare, but my heart was just breaking for her. She clearly was on serious drugs, but who am I to say what we were witnessing. She was drawing nervous glances or downright glares from everyone on the train, and I just felt saddened by the whole experience.

Evidence sometimes presents itself in a jolting way of the many types of people that comprise this city, the disparate places from where people hail, and the challenges that they face every day.

All I could think, while trying not to stare, was that she was someone's daughter. Someone's sister. Someone's neice.

Where are these people when she clearly needed them so much? I don't pretend to understand the circumstances, but one thing is painfully clear.

My heart still aches for her.

She will be in my prayers tonight, and hopefully she can get help.