I Hate Olives
Well, how did I get here…
Major life events can be and usually are quite messy. During a lifetime, it is quite probable you will have to rebuild yourself more than once. Rising from the ashes of a burned down career or relationship, dusting off your shoulders, hopefully learning lessons and starting over on a new and improved version of you. This is why the Phoenix is my spirit animal.
The last two years were challenging for many reasons, and I am not alone in saying this. 2021, in particular, was rough on both a professional and personal level. I am a big believer personal health can solve many problems elsewhere. A mentally and emotionally sound person can motivate themselves to solve almost any other challenge they face. Sadly, most people lack the skills, the time, or the desire to affect changes regardless of age.
Several years ago I thought I had “me” solved. I put in the hard work: introspection, journaling, developing and practicing boundaries and out popped a radiant new me. In a hectic, over-stimulated world things that are going well drift off, taken for granted, on autopilot cruising along right until they hit a tree.
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book…
I woke up in a new town, with almost no local friends and what I thought was an incredible relationship turned to dust. Well, now what. My new town has everything you could want and one of the largest in the nation but also incredibly lonely. For whatever reason, I thought NaNoWriMo was a good excuse to really dig into my influences, personal growth, past relationships, and why I forgot lessons from just a few years ago. It was.
As a teenager, my very first job was with a popular sandwich shop who puts olives on every terrible sandwich imaginable. Every morning and throughout the day I had to open gallons of olives and sprinkle them on baked goods. At the end of the day, I could never get the smell out of my hair. Black or green, I do not care, I will not eat them and keep them off my pizza. Anyhow, “I Hate Olives” was the name of my book, and it was one eye-opening retrospective. At the end, with revisions complete, I deleted it. I tossed it into the fire because the new me was waking up and has work to do.
I am just thinking of the right words to say…
One of the more mundane parts of getting out and trying to make new friends is having to tell your stories over, and over, and over. I was sitting on a dock chatting with a friend, and before I knew it we discussed string theory, crazy travel stories, and how my superpower should be never having to stop at red lights. My friend encouraged me to do this, to offer my stories about travel, photo projects, high-tech knowledge, cooking / nutrition, and relationship advice because a few people might find them interesting. As a kid, I loved writing. I recently cracked open an old trunk from high school, and scattered among the memories were poems and short stories, and served as a bit of well-timed motivation. I hear you universe. As a coder most of my life, my writing ability has atrophied a bit, so hang in there while I dust off those skills.
