I can't believe I am still such a fool. Even now, after all this time, there is a part of me that still yearns for God, still longs to find him, to experience him as real.
Yesterday, I started a new writing project, the first one in a long, long time. I was excited, gave it my all for almost the whole day, and it felt good. So tonight, after a long day of work, coffee with my dearest friend, take-out for dinner blah blah, I opened up yesterday's document to carry on writing. And I re-read it. And it was all crap. It sucked. All the pleasure and excitement I'd felt yesterday, all the dreaming and scene-planning just fell away in a heart beat. I used to be able to write, now I'm not sure I have a usable talent any more. It all feels wooden, contrived, cliched. And that tipped me into deep sadness and despair. Writing is the only area I have ever felt I had a chance of making good in, of perhaps doing something of worthwhile, lasting value. Now, along with all the other losses that come with middle-age, I'm facing the loss of the only real talent I have ever had.
So I took myself off for a bath, knowing I needed to weep, to somehow release this sadness from my spirit. And as I soaked and cried, I found that my grief extended far beyond the simple fact that maybe I'll never be any good as a writer. Yes, I grieved for that. But in the depths of the despair and pain, I found a deeper grief. It's hard to explain, but comes down to one simple and utterly unanswerable question:
Even if I was a good writer, what would be the point of it, anyway? It seems to me that life is essentially meaningless. What, I ask, is the Meaning of Life?
I'm NOT talking about what gives my life or your life individual meaning, like maybe I write good stories that move people emotionally. I'm talking about meaning on a global scale. On an individual level, I may feel good for a while about my achievement, and my readers may either laugh, or cry, and maybe they'll learn a little more about something. But in the end, life comes down to a seventy-something- year cycle in which we eat, we drink, we reproduce, and eventually, we die. Just like plants, or animals, or algae, or tapeworms. And when we're gone, we may be remembered by a few for a short while, but most of us will be forgotten within a decade or two unless we happen to be Hitler or Churchill or Ghandi or Mandela.
No, my question is what is the point of human beings as a species existing on this planet?
If the only point to our lives is simply to reproduce ourselves so that the species is perpetuated, then I really don't get it. If there is no higher purpose to human life as a whole on this planet, then what is the friggin' point of us existing at all? Some may say that we exist to help and serve others. Fine. So what are all the 'others' doing that is so important then? Why, like us, they're basically just getting through each day, doing what they need to do to stay alive and making sure that they to manage to reproduce themselves, so that they can leave more people behind who then have to do what they need to do to get through life themselves until they die, leaving behind yet more people ...and round and round it goes.
If that's all there is, it seems extremely pointless to me, even for those of us who do manage to have a nice time while we're on the planet.
So as I lay in the bath and wept and contemplated the awful emptiness of the existential abyss, I once again realized that what I wanted above all else--above my need to be able to write properly, above my need to get all my problems solved, above my need to be loved--what I yearned for most deeply of all was, shamefully, still 'God'. Meaning someone or something who exists beyond the limitations of this physical life, to show me that there IS life beyond birth and death, and that that life--whatever form it may take--is meaningful and eternal. I was horrified to discover that even after multiple disappointments, even after countless nights spent weeping and begging God to 'help me' know the reality of himself, even after at last making a start on the deconstruction of the faith that has proved so impossible to sustain over more than 25 years, after all this, I still hope for 'God'.
About a year ago, when talking to one of my dearest friends in all the world, I said to her that even though my faith had taken a huge knock, I wasn't going anywhere. If God wanted to find me, he knew where I was, and if he wanted me, he needed to come get me because I have spent almost all my adult life running after God, and never finding him in a way that allowed me to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is REAL.
And yet, I still cry, yearning and longing for something I'll never have. It's pathetic, really. How the hell do I get past this? Does one ever?
It's very sad.
Friday, August 31
Saturday, August 25
Burnout in Progress...
Having just got over my second bout of flu this winter (and I never usually even get sick!) and feeling very flat and wiped out, I was trying to figure out why I was proving so susceptible to passing viruses all of a sudden, and why this bout of illness had also left me all depressed and lethargic too.
So I stopped mentally and looked at what was going on in my life at the moment and that was when the "Aha!" moment happened.
If I step back and look at my life objectively, there is a heck of a lot of stressful change going on right now. And Stress leads to Burnout, which often brings with it a Depressed Immune System. Which explains why I'm getting sick and why I feel like I'm just not coping as efficiently as I usually manage to do.
I did an online stress / burnout questionnaire: The key said:
36 - 50 = Candidate for Burnout
51 - 65 = You are Burning Out
Over 66 = You Are In A Dangerous Place!!
My score is 69.
Guess some emergency stress management is called for! :-) At least I can identify most of the sources of stress, now I just need to figure out how to prioritize and then deal with all of them!
Two weeks holiday sounds like a good start.....
So I stopped mentally and looked at what was going on in my life at the moment and that was when the "Aha!" moment happened.
If I step back and look at my life objectively, there is a heck of a lot of stressful change going on right now. And Stress leads to Burnout, which often brings with it a Depressed Immune System. Which explains why I'm getting sick and why I feel like I'm just not coping as efficiently as I usually manage to do.
I did an online stress / burnout questionnaire: The key said:
36 - 50 = Candidate for Burnout
51 - 65 = You are Burning Out
Over 66 = You Are In A Dangerous Place!!
My score is 69.
Guess some emergency stress management is called for! :-) At least I can identify most of the sources of stress, now I just need to figure out how to prioritize and then deal with all of them!
Two weeks holiday sounds like a good start.....
Friday, August 24
Mother Theresa's Crisis of Faith
Mother Theresa, according to a new innocuously titled book, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light (Doubleday), was a woman whose soul was divided in two. Her public face wore a smile of spiritual content and joy that hid the "dryness," "darkness," "loneliness" and "torture" inside her: a spiritual aridity that began in 1948 and persisted, with a break in 1959 of only five weeks, until her death in 1997. Fifty years of pretending to the world that all was well with her soul... of never feeling or knowing God's presence, and at times, even doubting the existence of Heaven and God himself.
Read the FULL ARTICLE HERE.
But there's more. After reading the article, I became curious about this woman who could live with such cognitive dissonance for so long. What drove her? What kind of a personality was she? What made her the Sainted Mother so many came to see her as? Was she in fact a spiritual giant, or did she suffer from a personality disorder of some sort?
I found very little about her personality or personal life beyond that which is known already. There was much that venerated the work she did, but disturbingly, I also found much that raised hard-to-answer questions about aspects of the work too. HERE is a reprint from the conservative German magazine STERN, published in 1998, that calls both her ministry and its financial management into question--questions that remain unanswered until today....
Read the FULL ARTICLE HERE.
But there's more. After reading the article, I became curious about this woman who could live with such cognitive dissonance for so long. What drove her? What kind of a personality was she? What made her the Sainted Mother so many came to see her as? Was she in fact a spiritual giant, or did she suffer from a personality disorder of some sort?
I found very little about her personality or personal life beyond that which is known already. There was much that venerated the work she did, but disturbingly, I also found much that raised hard-to-answer questions about aspects of the work too. HERE is a reprint from the conservative German magazine STERN, published in 1998, that calls both her ministry and its financial management into question--questions that remain unanswered until today....
Sunday, August 19
Coming Out of the Closet
For weeks I have been wanting to post here about the journey I am currently on. So now I'm going to do it, probably in a series of posts over the next months as the journey continues.
At the age of 13, I became a born-again, water-baptized, spirit-filled Christian - a believer in God and a follower of His Son, Jesus. That tag has been my core identity, in one way or another, since that time. But that's no longer a core truth in my life--and may not even be a truth at all.
I'm not sure I have a tag to describe what I'd call me right now. Agnostic is probably the closest, but even that doesn't cover it - there's no easy label for what you become when your faith life falls apart and you find yourself adrift on a sea of existential doubt, despair and confusion. I've learnt that this is a well-documented process however and I'm far from the first person to have undertaken this particular journey, which btw, has a name.
It's called Deconversion.
Conversion, I read in a scholarly article somewhere online, is usually a sudden, rapid, emotional transformation. Deconversion, however, is a long, slow cognitive process, which is exactly what it's been for me. I have no idea where the journey will end, no specific goal or destination in sight except to find out the Truth about what we think of as "God" for myself, as best I can. So far, its been heartbreaking, challenging, scary, difficult and very, very lonely. But once you set foot on the road, there's no turning back--you can't undo the thoughts that have been thought, the books that have been read, the online conversations that have been held.
And some of those online conversations have become a lifeline of hope in my sea of despair! In particular, I'm relishing the conversation at Julie Unplugged (Falling Away From Faith series of posts).
I've also been reading a lot:
A History of God, by Karen Armstrong.
Leaving the Fold, by Marlene Winnell.
From Missionary Bible Translator to Agnostic, by Ken Daniels (which was one of the first things I read that helped me realize I truly wasn't mad, heretical, backslidden, unhinged or any of the above)
TBC.
At the age of 13, I became a born-again, water-baptized, spirit-filled Christian - a believer in God and a follower of His Son, Jesus. That tag has been my core identity, in one way or another, since that time. But that's no longer a core truth in my life--and may not even be a truth at all.
I'm not sure I have a tag to describe what I'd call me right now. Agnostic is probably the closest, but even that doesn't cover it - there's no easy label for what you become when your faith life falls apart and you find yourself adrift on a sea of existential doubt, despair and confusion. I've learnt that this is a well-documented process however and I'm far from the first person to have undertaken this particular journey, which btw, has a name.
It's called Deconversion.
Conversion, I read in a scholarly article somewhere online, is usually a sudden, rapid, emotional transformation. Deconversion, however, is a long, slow cognitive process, which is exactly what it's been for me. I have no idea where the journey will end, no specific goal or destination in sight except to find out the Truth about what we think of as "God" for myself, as best I can. So far, its been heartbreaking, challenging, scary, difficult and very, very lonely. But once you set foot on the road, there's no turning back--you can't undo the thoughts that have been thought, the books that have been read, the online conversations that have been held.
And some of those online conversations have become a lifeline of hope in my sea of despair! In particular, I'm relishing the conversation at Julie Unplugged (Falling Away From Faith series of posts).
I've also been reading a lot:
A History of God, by Karen Armstrong.
Leaving the Fold, by Marlene Winnell.
From Missionary Bible Translator to Agnostic, by Ken Daniels (which was one of the first things I read that helped me realize I truly wasn't mad, heretical, backslidden, unhinged or any of the above)
TBC.
Saturday, August 18
Our Lives, Controlled From Some Guy’s Couch
This article, in the NY Times of 14th August, postulates a fascinating theory regarding the nature of the universe ...."There's a 20% chance" says Nick Bostrom, philosopher and the director of the Future of Humanity Institute at Oxford, "that we might be living in someone else's computer simulation. "
What, he says, if some futuristic computer geeks, using advanced computing power, were running ancestor simulations to explore their evolutionary history, or were maybe even just having fun, the way today's kids play The Sims, Warcraft etc? It could mean that nothing we see, hear, feel, taste, touch, or experience is real. Its all virtual. WE are all virtual. Which would go a long way to supporting the idea of multiple or parallel universes
He explores the concept in some depth, wondering whether in fact those futuristic computer geeks might not be computer simulations themselves, with layer upon layer of simulations until you get all the way back to the Prime Designer....
But here's the most interesting aspect. He says: "It’s unsettling to think of the world being run by a futuristic computer geek, although we might at last dispose of that of classic theological question: How could God allow so much evil in the world? For the same reason there are plagues and earthquakes and battles in games like World of Warcraft. Peace is boring, Dude."
Read the whole article HERE.
What, he says, if some futuristic computer geeks, using advanced computing power, were running ancestor simulations to explore their evolutionary history, or were maybe even just having fun, the way today's kids play The Sims, Warcraft etc? It could mean that nothing we see, hear, feel, taste, touch, or experience is real. Its all virtual. WE are all virtual. Which would go a long way to supporting the idea of multiple or parallel universes
He explores the concept in some depth, wondering whether in fact those futuristic computer geeks might not be computer simulations themselves, with layer upon layer of simulations until you get all the way back to the Prime Designer....
But here's the most interesting aspect. He says: "It’s unsettling to think of the world being run by a futuristic computer geek, although we might at last dispose of that of classic theological question: How could God allow so much evil in the world? For the same reason there are plagues and earthquakes and battles in games like World of Warcraft. Peace is boring, Dude."
Read the whole article HERE.
Thursday, March 15
They wrote back - kinda .....
Today I received a reply to the email I sent to John Eldredge (see previous post). Whoop de doop, I thought!
Then I read it, which didn't take long.....
Hmmmmm............
Then I read it, which didn't take long.....
All is not lost. We still hold out hope for you. He is coming…
the RH team
Ransomed Heart Ministries
www.ransomedheart.com
Hmmmmm............
Wednesday, March 7
Last week, Infuze Magazine ran an interview with John Eldredge who is the founder of Ransomed Heart Ministries in Colorado Springs and the author of several books, such as Epic, Wild At Heart and Journey of Desire. Overall, he has sold over six million books.
He writes well, poetically and with passion, insight and (I guess) the truth as he knows it. I've read many of them... His site says very clearly that they do not do one-on-one counselling but they do encourage people to send them emails called "My Story' which they share with the staff to encourage them.... well, in response to his article, I sent them a 'My Story' email. I don't expect to hear back from them.
In many ways, this email is the continuation of a (long ago) post I made in this blog called Open Letter to God.
He writes well, poetically and with passion, insight and (I guess) the truth as he knows it. I've read many of them... His site says very clearly that they do not do one-on-one counselling but they do encourage people to send them emails called "My Story' which they share with the staff to encourage them.... well, in response to his article, I sent them a 'My Story' email. I don't expect to hear back from them.
In many ways, this email is the continuation of a (long ago) post I made in this blog called Open Letter to God.
Dear RHMinistries,In 2004, I read John Eldredge's first two books and found them deeply moving and inspirational. When I read the interview in InFuze Magazine last week, I was reminded of that. But, I'm getting ahead of myself ....In brief, I was born again at 13, baptized at 14, filled with the Spirit at 15. After some spiritual ups and downs, I recommitted to the Lord at 23, went back to church where I met and married my husband at 25. Two children and ten years later, we divorced. Again, a few very bumpy years accompanied by a severe illness, financial reverses and much emotional distress until 1998 I said to God, I have no where else to go, I have very little trust left in either You or your people but I'm going to give Christianity one last shot. Slowly life turned around and I made a new start at age 40 in terms of my health, where I lived, the work I did, the church I attended, my relationship with God, everything. Even though I was still single, life was very good.Throughout my life, rejection from men has been a constant. From an emotionally absent father (who wanted a son and got me instead), through some teen and twenties relationships that were unhealthy, to a marriage that ended in divorce and two post-divorce relationships which were both brief and disastrous, my experience of being nurtured, cherished and desired by men has basically been non-existent. So when I came back to God at age 40, I looked at this. Over the next few years, I read a lot - Jeanne Guyon, Larry Crabb, Richard Foster, John Eldredge amongst others - and I reached the point of understanding and embracing the truth that no relationship, no matter how wonderful or full of good things, will ever fully meet my deepest yearnings to be loved, valued, cherished and nurtured. I needed to look to God for that fulfilment, needed to keep Him at the centre of my life. According to Larry Crabb, God allows our most cherished dreams to be shattered so that we might find our highest good, our deepest fulfilment in Him, in a personal, experiential relationship with Himself - which is what He created us for. Yes, I said, I can see that and I accept that.Ceremonially one day, I took time off to go to the beach where I collected a bunch of small rocks, each representing some aspect of my life that held a dream - career, children, creativity, love ... and threw each one out into the ocean, releasing everything I had ever hoped for and dreamed of finding, into God's hands. And as a result, my yearning for God himself grew deeper and deeper. I longed for Him, for His presence with a longing that almost hurt, it was so intense. When things got rough, and my heart was sore, I turned to Him, affirming my commitment time and time again. The love I felt for Him was greater by far than the love I felt for anything else. And 'feeling' love for God was an area that I had struggled with in the past, so this was a 'big thing' for me.But as time went by, I became aware that each time I sought God, the only one at the party was - me. In my spirit, when I reached out for God, all I could 'see' was the granite of His back - hard, silent, unyielding. This went on for weeks, months. Until one day, in the depths of my need and my distress, I fell on my face (in the upstairs hallway of my house), buried my nose in the carpet and literally cried my heart out at His feet, begging and pleading with Him to meet me, to touch me, to comfort me... to love me. Somehow. Anyhow. I have never forgotten that day, its like a brand burned into my flesh.Because in my moment of deepest need, God did nothing.Why? I don't know. Here I am, nearly two years later, still with nothing from Him. This wound is very deep, far deeper than any other rejection. I don't know how it will ever be mended. I don't even know if I can really call myself a Christian any more. All I know is that God was and is silent. I continue to cry for Him at times, but am aware that disillusionment and cynicism are layering over that wound, stopping it from bleeding out all over the place. I keep it hidden when my daughter shares her joy in worshipping God, when my son tells me he got closer to God at the church camp. I smile at them, hug them and say nothing that might be destructive to their spiritual growth.But I don't attend church anymore - it would be dishonesty of the worst kind to go through the motions of worship when my heart is cold and sad and tired. I'm not stupid, (IQ of 140), I'm not unattractive, I'm not emotionally unintelligent, and I'm not psychiatrically disturbed. I'm self-employed, creative, honest, empathic, care about my friends, and love my children very much. But nowdays I find it very hard to imagine really loving anyone else, let alone making myself vulnerable to God again. I have spoken of this with very few people as, quite honestly, they don't know what to say.So, the reason for this letter is that when I read your interview in Infuze Magazine last week, I really wanted to let you know that despite what you say, not every Christian who desires a deep walk with God actually finds it.Thank you for reading this.Elleann
Tuesday, August 1
Epiphany of sorts ...
Yesterday I had an epiphany concerning an aspect of myself that has long puzzled me. I often experience unexpectedly deep rage reactions to something basically very insignificant – like having to wait three or four months for new movies to be released, or TV shows to be broadcast, or when a smooth, well-groomed woman in a large shiny car cuts in front of me on the road. At these times, when things like this happen, I get so angry, I feel like screaming and crying and climbing the walls with frustration and rage.
On the surface, it seems absurd, doesn’t it?
But, in talking to my daughter yesterday, I wondered out loud what it was all about, and I said, Gee, it feels like a child throwing a temper tantrum because it feels all deprived. And that was it! That is exactly how I was feeling and that is exactly where it was coming from.
I grew up eldest in a family of four kids. Dad worked long hours at a stressful job for less than wonderful pay and Mom was a SAHM. Money was tight, and while we never went without, luxuries were for Christmas and birthdays. My best friend in junior school was the youngest of four in a well-off family, and whenever I came home from visiting her, home seemed most unsatisfactory. Kids are so horribly mercenary, aren’t they? Our family wasn’t perfect, and neither was hers, but they had more money! On top of that, I was a shy, clever, non-sporty child, severely lacking in confidence and very introverted, and I always felt like I never quite fitted in. Like there’d be trials for the netball team. I’d persuade my friend to stay with me after school and try-out; she’d get in, I wouldn’t. Picking sides for games – I’d be amongst the last to be picked. A party was on, and I wasn’t invited.
Very early in life, I learnt to feel envy, and a failure, and what it was like to be not wanted.
In my teens and twenties, relationships were few and far between – mostly never-go-anywhere connections with friends of boyfriends of more popular girls, plus two relationships based solely on lust, accompanied in one instance by emotional abuse, which I, in my ignorance, thought was just ‘how he was’. And because he was also intellectual, physically appealing and liked sleeping with me, I thought I was in love with him.
(Speaking of love, my baby sister fell in love and got married long before I did – they’re about to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary. They live in a great house, both kids are at varsity, she earned her degree along the way and teaches high school now, and they’re all active in church life. I married later, divorced within ten years, am still alone and have nothing except my house as security for my ‘old age’. My kids, however, are fabulous and I’m doing my best to make sure they don’t inherit an emotional legacy of envy, failure and regret.)
All this helps me to understand why, when something makes me feel like I’m being overlooked, left out or in some way ‘deprived’, I get these insane reactions that are completely over the top… reactions that make me want to scream ‘unfair, unfair’. It’s that damned unhappy little girl still battling with the emotions of yesterday. Shit! How do you get rid of stuff like that?
All this relates to some degree to what my next post is going to be about – a continuation of that Open Letter to God I posted awhile back …
Tbc
Elleann.
On the surface, it seems absurd, doesn’t it?
But, in talking to my daughter yesterday, I wondered out loud what it was all about, and I said, Gee, it feels like a child throwing a temper tantrum because it feels all deprived. And that was it! That is exactly how I was feeling and that is exactly where it was coming from.
I grew up eldest in a family of four kids. Dad worked long hours at a stressful job for less than wonderful pay and Mom was a SAHM. Money was tight, and while we never went without, luxuries were for Christmas and birthdays. My best friend in junior school was the youngest of four in a well-off family, and whenever I came home from visiting her, home seemed most unsatisfactory. Kids are so horribly mercenary, aren’t they? Our family wasn’t perfect, and neither was hers, but they had more money! On top of that, I was a shy, clever, non-sporty child, severely lacking in confidence and very introverted, and I always felt like I never quite fitted in. Like there’d be trials for the netball team. I’d persuade my friend to stay with me after school and try-out; she’d get in, I wouldn’t. Picking sides for games – I’d be amongst the last to be picked. A party was on, and I wasn’t invited.
Very early in life, I learnt to feel envy, and a failure, and what it was like to be not wanted.
In my teens and twenties, relationships were few and far between – mostly never-go-anywhere connections with friends of boyfriends of more popular girls, plus two relationships based solely on lust, accompanied in one instance by emotional abuse, which I, in my ignorance, thought was just ‘how he was’. And because he was also intellectual, physically appealing and liked sleeping with me, I thought I was in love with him.
(Speaking of love, my baby sister fell in love and got married long before I did – they’re about to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary. They live in a great house, both kids are at varsity, she earned her degree along the way and teaches high school now, and they’re all active in church life. I married later, divorced within ten years, am still alone and have nothing except my house as security for my ‘old age’. My kids, however, are fabulous and I’m doing my best to make sure they don’t inherit an emotional legacy of envy, failure and regret.)
All this helps me to understand why, when something makes me feel like I’m being overlooked, left out or in some way ‘deprived’, I get these insane reactions that are completely over the top… reactions that make me want to scream ‘unfair, unfair’. It’s that damned unhappy little girl still battling with the emotions of yesterday. Shit! How do you get rid of stuff like that?
All this relates to some degree to what my next post is going to be about – a continuation of that Open Letter to God I posted awhile back …
Tbc
Elleann.
Monday, July 24
Doctor Doc
Today I have a guest blogger, my beautiful daughter!
Her entry is a sad one, though. This is her memorial tribute to her beloved cat, Doc.
“My cat was one of the most annoying, self-absorbed, fussy cats that I have met on this planet. If he wanted something, nothing would deter him (especially if it was chicken!). He drove my mom up the wall with his meowing! He had a supercat power of always being exactly where your foot was about to go, causing you to step on him. When stepped on, he would give you this reproachful look, which always made you feel guilty and take the blame (well, it made me anyway).
My brother (though he loved Doc) could not help teasing him. With my love for him and firm belief that animals have feelings, I appointed myself Doc’s protector against the combined forces known as mother and brother. In return, he decided he liked my lap best and sat there whenever he could, whether I wanted him there or not- like when I was “trying” to do my homework!
This of course played havoc with my allergies, but I loved it all the same.
Being the runt of the litter, he has always had problems with his health. However, last week, he got worse. We took him to the vet and found out that “he was a very sick cat”. The vet told us that it would be very expensive to do the tests and easier on Doc to put him down.
So we said goodbye and put him down.
I had gotten used to protecting him (though my brother had mostly gotten over it and mom by this time had succumbed to his charms and loved him) and to having him on my lap, so it is hard to accept that he is gone.
I’ll miss him and you can be sure that he made sure we would never forget him. His going-away present – peeing on mom’s laptop case!
I love you, Doc, and I’ll always miss you!”
Her entry is a sad one, though. This is her memorial tribute to her beloved cat, Doc.
“My cat was one of the most annoying, self-absorbed, fussy cats that I have met on this planet. If he wanted something, nothing would deter him (especially if it was chicken!). He drove my mom up the wall with his meowing! He had a supercat power of always being exactly where your foot was about to go, causing you to step on him. When stepped on, he would give you this reproachful look, which always made you feel guilty and take the blame (well, it made me anyway).
My brother (though he loved Doc) could not help teasing him. With my love for him and firm belief that animals have feelings, I appointed myself Doc’s protector against the combined forces known as mother and brother. In return, he decided he liked my lap best and sat there whenever he could, whether I wanted him there or not- like when I was “trying” to do my homework!
This of course played havoc with my allergies, but I loved it all the same.
Being the runt of the litter, he has always had problems with his health. However, last week, he got worse. We took him to the vet and found out that “he was a very sick cat”. The vet told us that it would be very expensive to do the tests and easier on Doc to put him down.
So we said goodbye and put him down.
I had gotten used to protecting him (though my brother had mostly gotten over it and mom by this time had succumbed to his charms and loved him) and to having him on my lap, so it is hard to accept that he is gone.
I’ll miss him and you can be sure that he made sure we would never forget him. His going-away present – peeing on mom’s laptop case!
I love you, Doc, and I’ll always miss you!”
Sunday, July 23
Ten good reasons to emigrate
Yesterday I met with Dave, the guy who runs the agency handling my proposed emigration to the US. Before my one-on-one meet with him, he had a general info session for prospective emigrants and he revisited all the reasons one might have for deciding to emigrate. These, he reminded us, are what you hang on to when the process gets tough.
I am so glad he did that. I’d lost sight of a lot of them, of all those things that first persuaded me to start this process.
Education:
He referred mainly to the school his own kids (11 and 17) attend in Irvine, CA, which is an upmarket area. Kids get an astounding education compared to here. In school, a lot of work is project-based, meaning own research and submission of paper / model / etc. His kids come home, log onto the school website, find the homework the teacher has posted for them, complete it and return it via the net. It is assumed that everyone has high-speed internet at home …Travel opportunities for all disciplines – study Spanish and you could find yourself on a trip to Spain. Travel with the school choir to festivals nationwide. The drama dept has a fully-equipped theatre, not just a school hall shared with sports activities. Backstage crew has a room full of power tools and equipment to build sets, etc. Community sport facilities are in abundance and are well-maintained - tax payers money being put to good use!
Work:
Who you are doesn’t limit what work you can do. Grannies serve you at McDonalds, for e.g. White women clean houses. Nothing is considered a demeaning job if it earns you a good wage. Jobs are not given on the basis of your age, race, sex or similar. Kids work summer jobs and earn good money – minimum wage is $7.00 ph. Babysitters get between $7 – 10.00 ph and more after midnight.
Security: This is a BIGGIE for South Africans!!
The houses have no fences, no security doors, no burglar bars, no alarm systems.
Post gets dropped in unlocked mailboxes, both delivery and to go.
Parcel deliveries are left on your doorstep if there is no one home and they don’t get stolen.
Kids can walk all over the neighborhood in safety and with freedom. (Here, I used to escort my child just to go next door, make sure she was safely inside with the gate locked before I’d go!)
Cars get left on the street, unlocked and no one worries ..
Houses get left unlocked, and no one worries …
If you are a pedestrian, the motorists stop instantly if you step into the road …
All this I know to be true, btw, from my last two visits to the US. Even in NY, when people cross the road, the traffic waits.
Cars:
A big fancy car which costs around R250 000.00 here sells for maybe $25 000.00 there – monthly repayments are around $500.00 max.
Salaries:
Most nurses earn around $30.00 average, not including benefits and overtime. Nurses are well-paid compared with the general population and live good lifestyles. Obviously, if you work in Podunk, Arkansas, you won’t earn as well, but then your cost of living is going to be much lower!
All in all, I was reminded of a million good reasons why I want to do this.
In our meeting thereafter, he told me that the INS processing time, which used to be around a year, is now down to 2 - 3 months. The paperwork for the VisaScreen credentialing goes forward simultaneously, taking also 2 – 3 months. Then, with the INS paperwork and the VisaScreen certificate in place, you request a green card interview with the US Consulate in Johannesburg. This can take 3 - 6 months to get done, depends on them. An estimated min of 6 months, max of 9 months once the paperwork is done. Yikes!!!
Hospitals are not taking on new RNs so far in advance anymore, like FRHG did. So what he is doing is sending out resumes once you are 4 - 5 months from the completion of the process, so that by the time you have your green card, you also have a good job offer with a good relocation allowance etc.
If I elect to go with the present flow, meaning we'd be there within the next 6 - 9 months, his agency will sponsor me and carry initial costs, recouping these from the sponsoring hospital later on. If I wait and go at say the end of next year, I have the option of temporarily halting the process, but that could lead to a longer wait as there is a strong possibility that with all the new emigration stuff and amnesties and whatnot, if those Bills are passed, the INS is going to be snowed under and things could get looooong and drawn out again. Or, I could elect to fund it myself, go ahead now and then make the actual move when we are ready to do so - you get six months from the time you get your green card to make the actual move.
I pitched to him the possibility of finding a position in LTC - long-term care as opposed to acute care hospitals - as I do have a lot more recent experience in this field and it is one I am comfortable working in. A good idea and viable, as this is also an area where staff are needed. I needed to revamp my resume and send it to him – he can then market me closer to D-Day.
Lots of decisions to be made … and I need to move on this soon.
I am so glad he did that. I’d lost sight of a lot of them, of all those things that first persuaded me to start this process.
Education:
He referred mainly to the school his own kids (11 and 17) attend in Irvine, CA, which is an upmarket area. Kids get an astounding education compared to here. In school, a lot of work is project-based, meaning own research and submission of paper / model / etc. His kids come home, log onto the school website, find the homework the teacher has posted for them, complete it and return it via the net. It is assumed that everyone has high-speed internet at home …Travel opportunities for all disciplines – study Spanish and you could find yourself on a trip to Spain. Travel with the school choir to festivals nationwide. The drama dept has a fully-equipped theatre, not just a school hall shared with sports activities. Backstage crew has a room full of power tools and equipment to build sets, etc. Community sport facilities are in abundance and are well-maintained - tax payers money being put to good use!
Work:
Who you are doesn’t limit what work you can do. Grannies serve you at McDonalds, for e.g. White women clean houses. Nothing is considered a demeaning job if it earns you a good wage. Jobs are not given on the basis of your age, race, sex or similar. Kids work summer jobs and earn good money – minimum wage is $7.00 ph. Babysitters get between $7 – 10.00 ph and more after midnight.
Security: This is a BIGGIE for South Africans!!
The houses have no fences, no security doors, no burglar bars, no alarm systems.
Post gets dropped in unlocked mailboxes, both delivery and to go.
Parcel deliveries are left on your doorstep if there is no one home and they don’t get stolen.
Kids can walk all over the neighborhood in safety and with freedom. (Here, I used to escort my child just to go next door, make sure she was safely inside with the gate locked before I’d go!)
Cars get left on the street, unlocked and no one worries ..
Houses get left unlocked, and no one worries …
If you are a pedestrian, the motorists stop instantly if you step into the road …
All this I know to be true, btw, from my last two visits to the US. Even in NY, when people cross the road, the traffic waits.
Cars:
A big fancy car which costs around R250 000.00 here sells for maybe $25 000.00 there – monthly repayments are around $500.00 max.
Salaries:
Most nurses earn around $30.00 average, not including benefits and overtime. Nurses are well-paid compared with the general population and live good lifestyles. Obviously, if you work in Podunk, Arkansas, you won’t earn as well, but then your cost of living is going to be much lower!
All in all, I was reminded of a million good reasons why I want to do this.
In our meeting thereafter, he told me that the INS processing time, which used to be around a year, is now down to 2 - 3 months. The paperwork for the VisaScreen credentialing goes forward simultaneously, taking also 2 – 3 months. Then, with the INS paperwork and the VisaScreen certificate in place, you request a green card interview with the US Consulate in Johannesburg. This can take 3 - 6 months to get done, depends on them. An estimated min of 6 months, max of 9 months once the paperwork is done. Yikes!!!
Hospitals are not taking on new RNs so far in advance anymore, like FRHG did. So what he is doing is sending out resumes once you are 4 - 5 months from the completion of the process, so that by the time you have your green card, you also have a good job offer with a good relocation allowance etc.
If I elect to go with the present flow, meaning we'd be there within the next 6 - 9 months, his agency will sponsor me and carry initial costs, recouping these from the sponsoring hospital later on. If I wait and go at say the end of next year, I have the option of temporarily halting the process, but that could lead to a longer wait as there is a strong possibility that with all the new emigration stuff and amnesties and whatnot, if those Bills are passed, the INS is going to be snowed under and things could get looooong and drawn out again. Or, I could elect to fund it myself, go ahead now and then make the actual move when we are ready to do so - you get six months from the time you get your green card to make the actual move.
I pitched to him the possibility of finding a position in LTC - long-term care as opposed to acute care hospitals - as I do have a lot more recent experience in this field and it is one I am comfortable working in. A good idea and viable, as this is also an area where staff are needed. I needed to revamp my resume and send it to him – he can then market me closer to D-Day.
Lots of decisions to be made … and I need to move on this soon.
Wednesday, July 19
More about the ambivalence
One of the hardest parts of being a single parent is making life-changing decisions alone. Hence my real need to look to God for help and guidance, and the real anguish I experience when I ‘think’ I hear from Him and then it all goes wrong, or doesn’t happen.
How do you trust when God seems to be either absent, or not interested, or simply doesn’t do what you thought He said he was going to do? How do you know the difference between God’s guidance and things in life just happening?
I blogged about this in relation to singleness and remarriage earlier on. The other area of huge concern to me right now is our proposed emigration plan.
Moving to the US is a dream I have had for about five years now. Where do our dreams come from, how do our desires take root in our hearts? If the Bible is to be believed, God says: “Seek the Lord in all that you do and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I thought I was being pretty smart when I interpreted that to mean if you put God first in life, then HE will place within your heart those desires that are within His will and plan for your life, and not that it meant: Love God and He’ll give you everything you want.
Earlier this year, I had a dream. I was high up in the mountains of California and there was an earthquake warning. Cars were pulling off the roads, so I stopped and expressed my fear to a woman, telling her my kids were down in the Valley, we hadn’t been in CA very long. She reassured me, and showed me where people were taking shelter in specially-built earthquake shelters in the mountainside. Huge bunkers with thick concrete and dense glass windows, they were literally earthquake proof. We all survived. I wondered if it wasn’t maybe God’s way of saying – take the plunge, I’ll take care of you even if everything seems to be going wrong around you. Take a chance.
Considering and praying further, I asked for prayer at church and a trusted friend and church leader who prayed with me shared a ‘word’ that seemed to confirm that stepping forward while trusting God to carry me was indeed the way to go. Other things fell into place as previously discussed in Life Choices and Changes Part Two. And the process got underway.
I’m battling with ambivalence right now. While my father supports this move intellectually, I can see and hear that neither he nor my dear mom are happy about us living so far away, and of course I can understand that. These are two of their precious grandchildren I’m proposing to remove from their lives. My folks are in their seventies, health is an issue and we’ll be very far away. My best friend in SA is very, very unhappy about it and is doing her best to find ways of keeping us here. My kids’ dad is now starting to express his sadness at losing regular contact with them and of course, I understand and empathize with that too! On the other side, my freelance writing and editing business seems to be taking off after two plus years of struggle. But the likelihood is that in order to secure a new contract position in the US, I’m going to have to go back into nursing fulltime here, to get current experience, either now or next year. Honestly? I have no desire to do that. Nursing is a means to an end, not an end in itself.
I’ll be meeting with the agency director this coming Saturday, and will find out where I stand in terms of jobs, process and financial commitments. Much depends on that too.
Oh, groan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Elleann
How do you trust when God seems to be either absent, or not interested, or simply doesn’t do what you thought He said he was going to do? How do you know the difference between God’s guidance and things in life just happening?
I blogged about this in relation to singleness and remarriage earlier on. The other area of huge concern to me right now is our proposed emigration plan.
Moving to the US is a dream I have had for about five years now. Where do our dreams come from, how do our desires take root in our hearts? If the Bible is to be believed, God says: “Seek the Lord in all that you do and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I thought I was being pretty smart when I interpreted that to mean if you put God first in life, then HE will place within your heart those desires that are within His will and plan for your life, and not that it meant: Love God and He’ll give you everything you want.
Earlier this year, I had a dream. I was high up in the mountains of California and there was an earthquake warning. Cars were pulling off the roads, so I stopped and expressed my fear to a woman, telling her my kids were down in the Valley, we hadn’t been in CA very long. She reassured me, and showed me where people were taking shelter in specially-built earthquake shelters in the mountainside. Huge bunkers with thick concrete and dense glass windows, they were literally earthquake proof. We all survived. I wondered if it wasn’t maybe God’s way of saying – take the plunge, I’ll take care of you even if everything seems to be going wrong around you. Take a chance.
Considering and praying further, I asked for prayer at church and a trusted friend and church leader who prayed with me shared a ‘word’ that seemed to confirm that stepping forward while trusting God to carry me was indeed the way to go. Other things fell into place as previously discussed in Life Choices and Changes Part Two. And the process got underway.
I’m battling with ambivalence right now. While my father supports this move intellectually, I can see and hear that neither he nor my dear mom are happy about us living so far away, and of course I can understand that. These are two of their precious grandchildren I’m proposing to remove from their lives. My folks are in their seventies, health is an issue and we’ll be very far away. My best friend in SA is very, very unhappy about it and is doing her best to find ways of keeping us here. My kids’ dad is now starting to express his sadness at losing regular contact with them and of course, I understand and empathize with that too! On the other side, my freelance writing and editing business seems to be taking off after two plus years of struggle. But the likelihood is that in order to secure a new contract position in the US, I’m going to have to go back into nursing fulltime here, to get current experience, either now or next year. Honestly? I have no desire to do that. Nursing is a means to an end, not an end in itself.
I’ll be meeting with the agency director this coming Saturday, and will find out where I stand in terms of jobs, process and financial commitments. Much depends on that too.
Oh, groan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Elleann
Open letter to God.
I can lose myself in writing, or in reading, or in watching a DVD, in emailing with friends, or in endless, fascinating web-surfing … I can talk about moving to America or not moving, I can talk about great new job opportunities, I can talk about my wonderful kids and my hopes for them, but none of this addresses the real questions that are buried deep in my heart at the moment.
Is God really real?
Does He actually care about us individually?
And if so, is there anyway to really, really, REALLY hear from him?
I have such skepticism about this right now, such doubt, and such a need to KNOW!
I had an experience several years ago (Oct 2003, to be exact) where I ‘thought’ I heard God speak to me. Now, I’m definitely not given to mystical experiences. I don’t hear voices or see visions. I have, like many others, done my time on my knees with the Bible open before, seeking guidance or at least a ‘word’ from God. I’ve even opened the Bible at random and stuck a finger in! What a joke!
Once before, I believed I ‘heard’ God speaking to me. Back in 1984, I was a shy, unconfident twenty-something, with a track record of few romantic relationships. I’d made a recommitment to Christianity and found my way to a nice church. I met a nice enough guy, we went out a few times, he seemed interested, but I didn’t really know … then in church one Sunday night, this ‘voice’ sounds in my head: “You have met your future husband and he is XXXX.” Zing!
I married that guy within 6 months and divorced him ten years later. Now, did I marry him because I was madly in love, or because I saw a good father for my future children, or because I couldn’t live without him? No, no and no. More like I was afraid of never marrying at all, several of my friends were also getting married, here was someone who was interested enough to propose (albeit not very romantically), and I believed God had told me he was to be my husband.
So, jump forward to 2003. Single again, I’d just read a brilliant, brilliant book by Larry Crabb called Shattered Dreams and had walked thru an experience of truly accepting that if God intended for me to stay alone forever more, that was fine with me. I would look to Him to meet all my needs for love, nurturing, provision, and so. After all, doesn’t He promise in the Bible to care for widows and orphans (and presumably divorcees too)? In fact, it was a time in my life when I was deeply, deeply in love with God
So, I’m driving my daughter somewhere and we see a procession of wedding cars go by, festooned with ribbons and whatnot. My usual, cynical, knee-jerk reaction kicked in:
Poor things! Such optimism, such hope, such fools to believe it can work out!
Next thing, I ‘hear’ somewhere inside me: “By this time next year, you will be married again.” Zing! Just like that, a promise, I thought, from God. I was a turbulent mix of emotions, but above all, my response was “ … only if this is Your will for me, Lord.”
I diarized the date, recorded the experience, sought confirmation in a sign, was given that sign the same day—and then I waited, with the prayer continually on my lips that God would enable me to continue looking to Him first, not to some guy I had yet to meet. I really focused on keeping God first, in seeking Him in all things. I even shared it with my minister’s wife, who said that God had told her that he was answering my prayer for remarriage in the affirmative.
Well, the year came and went, and another one, and another one … and I’m not married. At this point, I don’t even know any eligible, available men that I’d want to marry.
So, what do I make of that? Was it God? If so, did He change his mind? Was it a test of my faith to see if I will still trust in God even if He appears to be breaking His promise to me? Or did He answer my prayer by NOT letting it happen because it wasn’t His will and he wanted to see if I meant what I said by “… only if its Your will? Was it not God at all, but the Devil, attempting to deceive me? Or was it just me, indulging in some heavy wishful thinking and God had absolutely nothing to do with it?
How the heck can I ever know? All I DO know, for an absolute fact, is that nowadays I am deeply mistrustful of ‘words from God’, whether they come into my head or thru someone else’s lips.
Tbc
Elleann
Is God really real?
Does He actually care about us individually?
And if so, is there anyway to really, really, REALLY hear from him?
I have such skepticism about this right now, such doubt, and such a need to KNOW!
I had an experience several years ago (Oct 2003, to be exact) where I ‘thought’ I heard God speak to me. Now, I’m definitely not given to mystical experiences. I don’t hear voices or see visions. I have, like many others, done my time on my knees with the Bible open before, seeking guidance or at least a ‘word’ from God. I’ve even opened the Bible at random and stuck a finger in! What a joke!
Once before, I believed I ‘heard’ God speaking to me. Back in 1984, I was a shy, unconfident twenty-something, with a track record of few romantic relationships. I’d made a recommitment to Christianity and found my way to a nice church. I met a nice enough guy, we went out a few times, he seemed interested, but I didn’t really know … then in church one Sunday night, this ‘voice’ sounds in my head: “You have met your future husband and he is XXXX.” Zing!
I married that guy within 6 months and divorced him ten years later. Now, did I marry him because I was madly in love, or because I saw a good father for my future children, or because I couldn’t live without him? No, no and no. More like I was afraid of never marrying at all, several of my friends were also getting married, here was someone who was interested enough to propose (albeit not very romantically), and I believed God had told me he was to be my husband.
So, jump forward to 2003. Single again, I’d just read a brilliant, brilliant book by Larry Crabb called Shattered Dreams and had walked thru an experience of truly accepting that if God intended for me to stay alone forever more, that was fine with me. I would look to Him to meet all my needs for love, nurturing, provision, and so. After all, doesn’t He promise in the Bible to care for widows and orphans (and presumably divorcees too)? In fact, it was a time in my life when I was deeply, deeply in love with God
So, I’m driving my daughter somewhere and we see a procession of wedding cars go by, festooned with ribbons and whatnot. My usual, cynical, knee-jerk reaction kicked in:
Poor things! Such optimism, such hope, such fools to believe it can work out!
Next thing, I ‘hear’ somewhere inside me: “By this time next year, you will be married again.” Zing! Just like that, a promise, I thought, from God. I was a turbulent mix of emotions, but above all, my response was “ … only if this is Your will for me, Lord.”
I diarized the date, recorded the experience, sought confirmation in a sign, was given that sign the same day—and then I waited, with the prayer continually on my lips that God would enable me to continue looking to Him first, not to some guy I had yet to meet. I really focused on keeping God first, in seeking Him in all things. I even shared it with my minister’s wife, who said that God had told her that he was answering my prayer for remarriage in the affirmative.
Well, the year came and went, and another one, and another one … and I’m not married. At this point, I don’t even know any eligible, available men that I’d want to marry.
So, what do I make of that? Was it God? If so, did He change his mind? Was it a test of my faith to see if I will still trust in God even if He appears to be breaking His promise to me? Or did He answer my prayer by NOT letting it happen because it wasn’t His will and he wanted to see if I meant what I said by “… only if its Your will? Was it not God at all, but the Devil, attempting to deceive me? Or was it just me, indulging in some heavy wishful thinking and God had absolutely nothing to do with it?
How the heck can I ever know? All I DO know, for an absolute fact, is that nowadays I am deeply mistrustful of ‘words from God’, whether they come into my head or thru someone else’s lips.
Tbc
Elleann
Monday, July 17
Ambivalence
Today I got what felt like a real kick in the stomach.
My ex sent me an email in which he first complained about how much money all the kids' stuff is costing him. Now in fairness, not once in twelve years has he ever defaulted on paying anything for the kids. He is very, very committed to them, is as involved in their lives as he can be, and loves them dearly. Ten out of ten for being a good dad!
But actually, the money thing wasn’t the kick in the stomach. He went on to say:
I am feeling quite sore about the kids right now. The holiday was a very sad one for me, looking at them each day, thinking this is probably the last time we'll go on such a holiday and that soon I'll only be seeing them once a year, if that, depending on their timetables. Whatever, it is just rather emotional and the possibility of either of them ever living in my home for a while slips away as the plans for moving to the USA fall into place and the day draws closer. It has cost me a lot to stay in touch with them over the years, emotionally and financially but progressively they have been moved further and further away and it requires more and more to keep up the contact!!!
I can empathize with the emotional pain he feels. I really can. And the last few blog entries have revealed my ambivalence re the whole moving to America thing from my side. But the last part (in bold) was a real kicker. He makes it sound as if I have deliberately kept moving them further and further away from him, which is totally untrue.
After we separated back in 1994, we lived round the corner from him for three and a half years. Then, after discussing it with him, the kids and I moved away from that upmarket suburban area to a more rural environment. As a single working mom, I didn’t think I could keep up with the lifestyles they would see around them in that part of town, and I didn’t want them to grow up feel deprived, or less-than just because we couldn’t afford all the latest gadgets and cars and stuff. And it was the right choice to make for them, I think. They have happy lives and good friends, are well-adjusted, have both committed their lives to God, and they are both doing pretty well in school too. Financially it has been nip-and-tuck, but on the whole, we are doing well – on the pro side: I bought the house we live in five years ago. On the con side: I drive a crappy old clunky car.
But moving here was a bad choice for me, in terms of my staying single, though. This area is full of happy little families and retirees – eligible singles can be counted on one hand. Now, if this were a movie, there’d be someone like Viggo Mortensen running the local bookshop – sorry, Vig – artshop! and after some ups and downs, we’d fall madly in love and live happily ever after. But my life is more like one of those dark, dreary art movies where nothing is ever resolved and you come out of the movie house going “Huh? What the f--- was that all about?!!?”
I digress. I’ve responded to his email, expressed my hurt and acknowledged the pain he feels. Leave it at that.
Update: He responded to my mail, said sorry for "passing on my upheaval over money and all that stuff onto you. It's how I feel, not a statement of fact."
I figured as much, but I guess my ambivalence and worries got to me as well, hence my overreaction. Back to my art movie life ...
My ex sent me an email in which he first complained about how much money all the kids' stuff is costing him. Now in fairness, not once in twelve years has he ever defaulted on paying anything for the kids. He is very, very committed to them, is as involved in their lives as he can be, and loves them dearly. Ten out of ten for being a good dad!
But actually, the money thing wasn’t the kick in the stomach. He went on to say:
I am feeling quite sore about the kids right now. The holiday was a very sad one for me, looking at them each day, thinking this is probably the last time we'll go on such a holiday and that soon I'll only be seeing them once a year, if that, depending on their timetables. Whatever, it is just rather emotional and the possibility of either of them ever living in my home for a while slips away as the plans for moving to the USA fall into place and the day draws closer. It has cost me a lot to stay in touch with them over the years, emotionally and financially but progressively they have been moved further and further away and it requires more and more to keep up the contact!!!
I can empathize with the emotional pain he feels. I really can. And the last few blog entries have revealed my ambivalence re the whole moving to America thing from my side. But the last part (in bold) was a real kicker. He makes it sound as if I have deliberately kept moving them further and further away from him, which is totally untrue.
After we separated back in 1994, we lived round the corner from him for three and a half years. Then, after discussing it with him, the kids and I moved away from that upmarket suburban area to a more rural environment. As a single working mom, I didn’t think I could keep up with the lifestyles they would see around them in that part of town, and I didn’t want them to grow up feel deprived, or less-than just because we couldn’t afford all the latest gadgets and cars and stuff. And it was the right choice to make for them, I think. They have happy lives and good friends, are well-adjusted, have both committed their lives to God, and they are both doing pretty well in school too. Financially it has been nip-and-tuck, but on the whole, we are doing well – on the pro side: I bought the house we live in five years ago. On the con side: I drive a crappy old clunky car.
But moving here was a bad choice for me, in terms of my staying single, though. This area is full of happy little families and retirees – eligible singles can be counted on one hand. Now, if this were a movie, there’d be someone like Viggo Mortensen running the local bookshop – sorry, Vig – artshop! and after some ups and downs, we’d fall madly in love and live happily ever after. But my life is more like one of those dark, dreary art movies where nothing is ever resolved and you come out of the movie house going “Huh? What the f--- was that all about?!!?”
I digress. I’ve responded to his email, expressed my hurt and acknowledged the pain he feels. Leave it at that.
Update: He responded to my mail, said sorry for "passing on my upheaval over money and all that stuff onto you. It's how I feel, not a statement of fact."
I figured as much, but I guess my ambivalence and worries got to me as well, hence my overreaction. Back to my art movie life ...
Sunday, July 16
Writer's Paralysis ...
… is what I think I've got.
Writer’s Paralysis worse than Writer’s Block, ‘cos WB usually means you don’t quite know where to go next in your story, but WP means you can’t even get that story going because you don’t know what the story is about; you don’t know what you want it to be about; you don’t know what genre it’s supposed to be; you don’t know who the characters are, or where they live, or why they may or may not do any or all or none of the things you might ask them to do. You have serious doubts, and I mean really serious doubts, about whether you will ever be able to be the writer you always dreamed of being.
Writer’s Paralysis is hell.
Throughout the last six to nine months I’ve dreamed of the moment when my exam would be behind me and I would be free to write again. That time is here and thank you very much, I now have Writer’s Paralysis!! I sit and gaze at the bright, blank screen of my lovely new notebook computer and feel nothing but weakness and despair. I lie in a steaming hot bath, a place which usually unleashes ideas, connections, insights and understanding, and all I get is hot and sweaty and prune-textured finger tips. Instead of walking along the beach getting invigorated and inspired, I moulder away the hours in aimless net-surfing and dvd-watching and food cupboard-visiting.
This morning, searching for inspiration, I read an excerpt from an article that appeared in the NY Times online edition of Book News, about author Kim Edwards (48) and her debut novel ‘The Memory Keeper’s Daughter’ which is apparently zooming up the trade paperback best seller charts. “With the ethical dilemma and family drama at its heart, “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter” is appealing to readers who want a literary page turner…” Ah! A new novelist my age, writing the kind of book I’d most like to write! So I went and checked her out, hoping to maybe uncover a secret or two, a trick to breaking out of WP, and breaking into good writing (not to mention bestsellerdom!). The excerpt from the novel on Amazon looked really, really good – beautiful word flow, characterization, everything … so on to her bio:
Kim Edwards is the author of a short story collection, The Secrets of a Fire King, which was an alternate for the 1998 PEN/Hemingway Award, and has won both a Whiting Award and the Nelson Algren Award. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, she currently teaches writing at the University of Kentucky.
Despair. How can a South African-born and raised woman with no education in literature or writing ever hope to write that way? I just don’t have the grounding, the education, the understanding, or the way with words that people like Kim Edwards, Sue Monk Kidder, Marilynne Robinson and Ann Patchett have. I don’t have the flow of ideas and gift for dialogue and characterization that my talented and prolific writing friend Pat has. All I have right now is the fear that if I don’t get past this, I may never, ever become a writer of any description at all. And if I am not a writer, then what am I?
Nothing?
Maybe this is part of the paralysis – the fear that if I don’t succeed as a writer, then my life will have been meaningless. After all, as a divorcee in her late forties with a minor weight problem and braces, as a freelancer who lives from job to job, as a single who has had no ‘relationship’ for nearly ten years, there’s a large part of me that feels like a hideous failure. Yes, I have wonderful kids and yes, I have a few dear friends, and yes, I am relatively healthy, and yes, for the moment I’m surviving financially. But is that enough for me to call my life ‘successful’? If so, why do I feel this pressing need to move to the US? Why do I feel that if I don’t get writing again very soon, I’ll be sinking into some kind of pit of mediocrity and loss from which I may never emerge?
There are other factors that contribute to this paralysis, I know, that I need to face up to and smash down, if I am to move past this. It feels very much like the fight I sometimes have to keep hold of my faith in God, the fight I sometimes have to keep depression at bay, the fight I often have to not give in to the feelings of loneliness that being single generates. When it feels like there’s a rock in my gut, and all I can see is mud and slime and darkness, and all I feel like doing is crying. And therein lies a clue …
Because I have come to see that crying is a safe place for me. When I cry, I’m giving in to the feelings. I’m giving up, I’m saying ‘I can’t do anything about this, whatever it may be’. I can be passive, and bitter, and feel sorry for myself. And while that’s uncomfortable, it’s also safe. No scary changing-of-attitude needed. No scary ‘I’m going to get past this’ decision.
And that is why I’m back in Lord of the Rings territory (my all-time favorite movies). Partly Frodo making his decision to carry the ring at the Council of Elrond, partly Frodo staring up at the fires of Mount Doom, but mainly Aragorn at the entrance to Dimholt Road after Elrond says to him: “Put aside the ranger. Become who you were born to be.” Frodo had Sam by his side, but Aragorn stepped out alone, not even knowing whether he would survive but prepared to risk all to try and become who he was born to be.
The way to go? I think so…
Elleann.
Writer’s Paralysis worse than Writer’s Block, ‘cos WB usually means you don’t quite know where to go next in your story, but WP means you can’t even get that story going because you don’t know what the story is about; you don’t know what you want it to be about; you don’t know what genre it’s supposed to be; you don’t know who the characters are, or where they live, or why they may or may not do any or all or none of the things you might ask them to do. You have serious doubts, and I mean really serious doubts, about whether you will ever be able to be the writer you always dreamed of being.
Writer’s Paralysis is hell.
Throughout the last six to nine months I’ve dreamed of the moment when my exam would be behind me and I would be free to write again. That time is here and thank you very much, I now have Writer’s Paralysis!! I sit and gaze at the bright, blank screen of my lovely new notebook computer and feel nothing but weakness and despair. I lie in a steaming hot bath, a place which usually unleashes ideas, connections, insights and understanding, and all I get is hot and sweaty and prune-textured finger tips. Instead of walking along the beach getting invigorated and inspired, I moulder away the hours in aimless net-surfing and dvd-watching and food cupboard-visiting.
This morning, searching for inspiration, I read an excerpt from an article that appeared in the NY Times online edition of Book News, about author Kim Edwards (48) and her debut novel ‘The Memory Keeper’s Daughter’ which is apparently zooming up the trade paperback best seller charts. “With the ethical dilemma and family drama at its heart, “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter” is appealing to readers who want a literary page turner…” Ah! A new novelist my age, writing the kind of book I’d most like to write! So I went and checked her out, hoping to maybe uncover a secret or two, a trick to breaking out of WP, and breaking into good writing (not to mention bestsellerdom!). The excerpt from the novel on Amazon looked really, really good – beautiful word flow, characterization, everything … so on to her bio:
Kim Edwards is the author of a short story collection, The Secrets of a Fire King, which was an alternate for the 1998 PEN/Hemingway Award, and has won both a Whiting Award and the Nelson Algren Award. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, she currently teaches writing at the University of Kentucky.
Despair. How can a South African-born and raised woman with no education in literature or writing ever hope to write that way? I just don’t have the grounding, the education, the understanding, or the way with words that people like Kim Edwards, Sue Monk Kidder, Marilynne Robinson and Ann Patchett have. I don’t have the flow of ideas and gift for dialogue and characterization that my talented and prolific writing friend Pat has. All I have right now is the fear that if I don’t get past this, I may never, ever become a writer of any description at all. And if I am not a writer, then what am I?
Nothing?
Maybe this is part of the paralysis – the fear that if I don’t succeed as a writer, then my life will have been meaningless. After all, as a divorcee in her late forties with a minor weight problem and braces, as a freelancer who lives from job to job, as a single who has had no ‘relationship’ for nearly ten years, there’s a large part of me that feels like a hideous failure. Yes, I have wonderful kids and yes, I have a few dear friends, and yes, I am relatively healthy, and yes, for the moment I’m surviving financially. But is that enough for me to call my life ‘successful’? If so, why do I feel this pressing need to move to the US? Why do I feel that if I don’t get writing again very soon, I’ll be sinking into some kind of pit of mediocrity and loss from which I may never emerge?
There are other factors that contribute to this paralysis, I know, that I need to face up to and smash down, if I am to move past this. It feels very much like the fight I sometimes have to keep hold of my faith in God, the fight I sometimes have to keep depression at bay, the fight I often have to not give in to the feelings of loneliness that being single generates. When it feels like there’s a rock in my gut, and all I can see is mud and slime and darkness, and all I feel like doing is crying. And therein lies a clue …
Because I have come to see that crying is a safe place for me. When I cry, I’m giving in to the feelings. I’m giving up, I’m saying ‘I can’t do anything about this, whatever it may be’. I can be passive, and bitter, and feel sorry for myself. And while that’s uncomfortable, it’s also safe. No scary changing-of-attitude needed. No scary ‘I’m going to get past this’ decision.
And that is why I’m back in Lord of the Rings territory (my all-time favorite movies). Partly Frodo making his decision to carry the ring at the Council of Elrond, partly Frodo staring up at the fires of Mount Doom, but mainly Aragorn at the entrance to Dimholt Road after Elrond says to him: “Put aside the ranger. Become who you were born to be.” Frodo had Sam by his side, but Aragorn stepped out alone, not even knowing whether he would survive but prepared to risk all to try and become who he was born to be.
The way to go? I think so…
Elleann.
Thursday, July 13
Happy Birthday to Me!
A week late, maybe, but today I gave myself a present that will (hopefully) be around for a long time. At the ripe old age of … pick a number … I was fitted with orthodontic braces. The bottom row is normal metallic-looking, but the top row includes what they call clear braces, the almost-not-there kind of braces. They’re going to be on for at least 16 months.
A dear friend who is my age had her bottom teeth done about a year ago. Her husband, who is a couple of years younger than both of us, wanted to know why we were bothering with teeth straightening. He didn’t actually come out and say ‘… at your age’, but you could kind of hear it echoing there anyway. She told him it’s because we can’t afford to go for facelifts. He looked blank. I guess it’s a girl thing ….
I asked the orthodontist how old his oldest patient ever was and he said: ‘A man in his eighties.’ Next oldest, he added, was a retired professor in his sixties. I quickly changed the subject before he could go on to say ‘…and then there’s you.’
My mouth feels truly weird, all tight and constrained and odd. 16 months of this? I can’t even chew yet – soup for lunch, soup for supper – even the bit of bread I made all soggy and squashed up felt impossible to eat.
Dear God, maybe I’ll end up skinny after all! Skinny with glasses and braces? Hurrah, I’ve always felt like I missed out on being a real teenager, maybe I’m getting a chance to relive those years after all. So, bring on the hot boys! But come to think of it, these braces probably mean death to any dreams of romance for this single. Who’d want to kiss a forty-something with a mouth full of metal?
What was I thinking?!?!
Happy birthday to me!
A dear friend who is my age had her bottom teeth done about a year ago. Her husband, who is a couple of years younger than both of us, wanted to know why we were bothering with teeth straightening. He didn’t actually come out and say ‘… at your age’, but you could kind of hear it echoing there anyway. She told him it’s because we can’t afford to go for facelifts. He looked blank. I guess it’s a girl thing ….
I asked the orthodontist how old his oldest patient ever was and he said: ‘A man in his eighties.’ Next oldest, he added, was a retired professor in his sixties. I quickly changed the subject before he could go on to say ‘…and then there’s you.’
My mouth feels truly weird, all tight and constrained and odd. 16 months of this? I can’t even chew yet – soup for lunch, soup for supper – even the bit of bread I made all soggy and squashed up felt impossible to eat.
Dear God, maybe I’ll end up skinny after all! Skinny with glasses and braces? Hurrah, I’ve always felt like I missed out on being a real teenager, maybe I’m getting a chance to relive those years after all. So, bring on the hot boys! But come to think of it, these braces probably mean death to any dreams of romance for this single. Who’d want to kiss a forty-something with a mouth full of metal?
What was I thinking?!?!
Happy birthday to me!
Tuesday, July 11
I haven't been there in the longest time ...
Back in my youth, I was a Billy Joel fan. (Yeah, my kids laugh at me too … ) But lately, I’ve been listening to him again, after I downloaded some of his music to my laptop. And I mean really listening, to the point of going to websites to read the lyrics. And today, I was listening to yet another old, familiar favorite song when suddenly I started really listening. And this song stirred all those nameless longings in me again …
The Longest Time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
If you said goodbye to me tonight
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do
I'm so inspired by you
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest
I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you
And how you needed me too
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Maybe this won't last very long
But you feel so right
And I could be wrong
Maybe I've been hoping too hard
But I've gone this far
And it's more than I hoped for
Who knows how much further we'll go on
Maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone
I'll take my chances
I forgot how nice romance is
I haven't been there for the longest time
I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself
Hold on to your heart
Now I know the woman that you are
You're wonderful so far
And it's more than I hoped for
I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time
(Thanks to Matt's Music Page for the lyrics. )
Elleann.
The Longest Time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
If you said goodbye to me tonight
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do
I'm so inspired by you
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest
I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you
And how you needed me too
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Maybe this won't last very long
But you feel so right
And I could be wrong
Maybe I've been hoping too hard
But I've gone this far
And it's more than I hoped for
Who knows how much further we'll go on
Maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone
I'll take my chances
I forgot how nice romance is
I haven't been there for the longest time
I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself
Hold on to your heart
Now I know the woman that you are
You're wonderful so far
And it's more than I hoped for
I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time
(Thanks to Matt's Music Page for the lyrics. )
Elleann.
Life changes and choices - Part Two
“More tomorrow” should have read “More Next Month!” Ha!
Back in the mid-1990s, I became aware that more and more companies were recruiting SA nurses for positions in the UK, Saudi, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the US. Now, in my heart of hearts, I’ve never been ‘Proudly South African’! Yes, this country is beautiful and yes, my family all live here. But still I yearned to move somewhere – anywhere, really – that wasn’t crime-ridden, corrupt, full of white guilt and black anger, where jobs weren’t handed out on the basis of skin color, where my kids would have real opportunities to follow their dreams and live in relative peace and safety.
I wanted out.
But my kids were still young and needed their dad, and he needed them. So I put it to one side, all the time thinking – I could leave anytime, if I really wanted to. Until, in early 2005, I realized that time was ticking by and the possibility for me to emigrate wouldn’t be around forever. I did my research and honed in on a small company that specialized in placing nurses in the US – a girl I knew had made the move through them and she was very happy. I called them, and learned that the US director was in CT – a twice-yearly occurrence. I met with him the next day and within a week, things were underway.
The big plus of going with him was that he recruited for a hospital group that, unlike just about every other agency and group, did not require the prospective nurse-emigrant to be currently fulltime employed as a nurse. My part-time relief work was regarded as sufficient in the light of my CV. In July, I received an excellent job offer. The deal included a generous relocation allowance, plus the hospital would cover all the expenses related to licensing fees, visas, INS services, most of the flight costs etc, for my two kids and I. So I went for the medicals, and started studying for the NCLEX – the US nursing board exam which you have to pass to be licensed as an RN in the States.
Then, at the end of the year, the blow fell. The US hospital underwent an internal reshuffle and recruitment of foreign nurses got axed. I now had no guarantee of work or of financial support for the move. But I couldn’t give up. There had been so many ‘clear signs’ – a dream I’d had, words from a minister I respected, the timing of my meeting with the agency and so on. So I studied like crazy for the next six months and in June 2006, I flew to the UK, took the NCLEX exam in London—and passed it first time. So I am now officially licensed to practice in the USA!
So, now I stand at the door of my future. I’ll be meeting with my US agent in about ten days time and hope to learn from him what the job situation is, how the whole thing could play out. There are so many factors here, though. I’m not a specialist nurse, even though I have previous experience in ICU. So I’d probably need to find a basic med-surg position somewhere. Somewhere, of course, is a whole other story in itself.
But back here at home, my freelance writing and editing career is going from strength to strength. I just landed a contract position with an ad agency to write web copy for a major restaurant group, which has several websites that need weekly updating. Articles, stories, event coverage, educational stuff… interesting work and great experience for me as a freelance. I’m also part of a team pitching on a big tender project, which, if won, could mean several months’ steady work at a really good rate!
However, if current employment as an RN is an issue for a future employer in the US, this may mean I need to go back to nursing here and now, in SA, at miserable rates of pay.
What I’d really like, of course, is to find a job in the US that uses my writing and editing skills against a background of healthcare or nursing, meaning I don’t need to go into hospital work now. Best of both worlds, see?
It’s a dream. A dream I can only leave in God’s hands, cos He’s the one who made me the way I am, gave me the skills, talents, yearnings and desires that I have. So, it’s over to Him.
Elleann.
Back in the mid-1990s, I became aware that more and more companies were recruiting SA nurses for positions in the UK, Saudi, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the US. Now, in my heart of hearts, I’ve never been ‘Proudly South African’! Yes, this country is beautiful and yes, my family all live here. But still I yearned to move somewhere – anywhere, really – that wasn’t crime-ridden, corrupt, full of white guilt and black anger, where jobs weren’t handed out on the basis of skin color, where my kids would have real opportunities to follow their dreams and live in relative peace and safety.
I wanted out.
But my kids were still young and needed their dad, and he needed them. So I put it to one side, all the time thinking – I could leave anytime, if I really wanted to. Until, in early 2005, I realized that time was ticking by and the possibility for me to emigrate wouldn’t be around forever. I did my research and honed in on a small company that specialized in placing nurses in the US – a girl I knew had made the move through them and she was very happy. I called them, and learned that the US director was in CT – a twice-yearly occurrence. I met with him the next day and within a week, things were underway.
The big plus of going with him was that he recruited for a hospital group that, unlike just about every other agency and group, did not require the prospective nurse-emigrant to be currently fulltime employed as a nurse. My part-time relief work was regarded as sufficient in the light of my CV. In July, I received an excellent job offer. The deal included a generous relocation allowance, plus the hospital would cover all the expenses related to licensing fees, visas, INS services, most of the flight costs etc, for my two kids and I. So I went for the medicals, and started studying for the NCLEX – the US nursing board exam which you have to pass to be licensed as an RN in the States.
Then, at the end of the year, the blow fell. The US hospital underwent an internal reshuffle and recruitment of foreign nurses got axed. I now had no guarantee of work or of financial support for the move. But I couldn’t give up. There had been so many ‘clear signs’ – a dream I’d had, words from a minister I respected, the timing of my meeting with the agency and so on. So I studied like crazy for the next six months and in June 2006, I flew to the UK, took the NCLEX exam in London—and passed it first time. So I am now officially licensed to practice in the USA!
So, now I stand at the door of my future. I’ll be meeting with my US agent in about ten days time and hope to learn from him what the job situation is, how the whole thing could play out. There are so many factors here, though. I’m not a specialist nurse, even though I have previous experience in ICU. So I’d probably need to find a basic med-surg position somewhere. Somewhere, of course, is a whole other story in itself.
But back here at home, my freelance writing and editing career is going from strength to strength. I just landed a contract position with an ad agency to write web copy for a major restaurant group, which has several websites that need weekly updating. Articles, stories, event coverage, educational stuff… interesting work and great experience for me as a freelance. I’m also part of a team pitching on a big tender project, which, if won, could mean several months’ steady work at a really good rate!
However, if current employment as an RN is an issue for a future employer in the US, this may mean I need to go back to nursing here and now, in SA, at miserable rates of pay.
What I’d really like, of course, is to find a job in the US that uses my writing and editing skills against a background of healthcare or nursing, meaning I don’t need to go into hospital work now. Best of both worlds, see?
It’s a dream. A dream I can only leave in God’s hands, cos He’s the one who made me the way I am, gave me the skills, talents, yearnings and desires that I have. So, it’s over to Him.
Elleann.
Saturday, June 3
Life changes and choices - Part One
One of my all-time favorite sci-fi novels is Robert Heinlein’s The Number of the Beast, published in 1980. (This wonderful book parodies the pulp fiction novels of the 30s, as well as paying homage to the Martian novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs.) In this story however, the biblical “number of the beast” turns out to be, not 666, but 6 to the power of 6 to the power of 6 or 10314424798490535546171949056, which equals the number of parallel universes that Zeb, Deety, Jake and Hilda could have visited if they’d had the time…
Parallel universes fascinate me… all those what-if worlds of the past, present and future – I’ve often wished I had a way of finding out what might-have-been in my life, if only I’d chosen a different path to the one I did…
When I was 17, way back in the Dark Ages, there was no such thing as career guidance. I was the oldest child, first of four, and I hadn’t a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I liked literature, writing, film, drama, English – but somehow, choosing a career that started with a university education just never came up for discussion. Maybe my parents couldn’t afford it? Maybe we thought I didn’t have the brains for it? I can’t remember. What I do remember is that in the middle of my matric year, my grandmother got sick. I visited her in the state hospital and I remember light, bright airy wards, where the sun shone in through big windows and the gardens outside were dominated by oak trees, squirrels, lilies and agapanthus. The nurses were sweet-smiling, calm, moving round the wards in their starched white uniforms with starched white caps and shiny laced-up shoes. It felt magical to me.
I applied, got accepted and six months later, started my training at that same hospital. My ‘A’ for English, my love for literature and words, my interest in drama—ended up submerged in the nursing world for the next twenty years. The closest I got to literature was reading books like The Magus (John Fowles), The World according to Garp (John Irving) and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the fabulous and late-lamented Douglas Adams). The closest I got to writing was documenting the bowel actions, aches, pains and pills of my patient’s in the nursing Kardex. The closest I got to drama was seeing Saturday Night Fever and Grease at the flicks!
I’ve worked in nursing almost non-stop since then. Sometimes fulltime, sometimes part time, sometimes day, sometimes night, through singleness and marriage, though my ex-husband’s three years at bible college, through two pregnancies when we subsisted on my income and the good graces of his parents, through the drawn-out months of the divorce, through the two and a half years of my post-divorce health breakdown, through croup and bronchitis, through temper tantrums, childhood depressions and tonsillectomies, through the good and the bad times … I worked.
I have to say, though, that there were times when I really, really liked being a nurse. I like caring for people, relieving pain, advising, helping, counseling, supporting … I liked my years in psychiatry, I liked understanding what makes people tick, I liked learning … but I didn’t like the boring, repetitive nature of most days on the wards. I didn’t like getting up at 5.30 to be at work by 6:45am, I didn’t like leaving my babies with the nanny or the day mother or the crèche.
And during that time, I forgot that I used to like to write. I forgot that I had a vivid imagination. I forgot the joy of the printed word. Movies were for the weekends when the kids went to their dad, books were limited to Danielle Steele . I was in survival mode. Creativity showed up now and then in dreams about starting a business that would earn millions, in dreams of winning the Lotto, in dreams of meeting the real Mr. Right-for-me …
But in 2000, God put me through a bit of spiritual surgery, removing from my heart a dream that I’d clung to for several years. And in the aftermath, as I contemplated the aridity of my life-minus-the-fantasy, I started fiddling around with writing again. Puerile, imperfect scribblings littered my hard drive, words filled my mind, dreams fired up my imagination. I started a writers group, went to a couple of Christian writing conferences in the States (huge, unlooked-for blessings, both!) and moved out of the clinical field into working as a case manager / report writer and editor for a managed healthcare company. Retrenchment followed in early 2004 and I lived on UIF and a small redundancy package for six months before deciding to pursue a freelance writing / editing career.
Two and a half years later, we’re still living from hand to mouth, as I mix freelance work with occasional nursing shifts. Most of the work comes via a friend who runs a very successful graphic design studio, so I write and edit ads, brochures, folder inserts, directories and so on. When the work is there, the pay is great. When there’s no work, I do transcription (long hours, low pay but it’s at home) or nursing (long hours, mediocre pay, away from home). With some serious marketing, (not my strongest point), I reckon I could make a go of this, and still keep on writing fiction on my own time.
BUT … isn’t there always a ‘but’? BUT, there’s another dream in the pipeline. A good dream, a wonderful dream, a life-changing dream. A dream that will upset my current career applecart completely.
More tomorrow …
Parallel universes fascinate me… all those what-if worlds of the past, present and future – I’ve often wished I had a way of finding out what might-have-been in my life, if only I’d chosen a different path to the one I did…
When I was 17, way back in the Dark Ages, there was no such thing as career guidance. I was the oldest child, first of four, and I hadn’t a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I liked literature, writing, film, drama, English – but somehow, choosing a career that started with a university education just never came up for discussion. Maybe my parents couldn’t afford it? Maybe we thought I didn’t have the brains for it? I can’t remember. What I do remember is that in the middle of my matric year, my grandmother got sick. I visited her in the state hospital and I remember light, bright airy wards, where the sun shone in through big windows and the gardens outside were dominated by oak trees, squirrels, lilies and agapanthus. The nurses were sweet-smiling, calm, moving round the wards in their starched white uniforms with starched white caps and shiny laced-up shoes. It felt magical to me.
I applied, got accepted and six months later, started my training at that same hospital. My ‘A’ for English, my love for literature and words, my interest in drama—ended up submerged in the nursing world for the next twenty years. The closest I got to literature was reading books like The Magus (John Fowles), The World according to Garp (John Irving) and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the fabulous and late-lamented Douglas Adams). The closest I got to writing was documenting the bowel actions, aches, pains and pills of my patient’s in the nursing Kardex. The closest I got to drama was seeing Saturday Night Fever and Grease at the flicks!
I’ve worked in nursing almost non-stop since then. Sometimes fulltime, sometimes part time, sometimes day, sometimes night, through singleness and marriage, though my ex-husband’s three years at bible college, through two pregnancies when we subsisted on my income and the good graces of his parents, through the drawn-out months of the divorce, through the two and a half years of my post-divorce health breakdown, through croup and bronchitis, through temper tantrums, childhood depressions and tonsillectomies, through the good and the bad times … I worked.
I have to say, though, that there were times when I really, really liked being a nurse. I like caring for people, relieving pain, advising, helping, counseling, supporting … I liked my years in psychiatry, I liked understanding what makes people tick, I liked learning … but I didn’t like the boring, repetitive nature of most days on the wards. I didn’t like getting up at 5.30 to be at work by 6:45am, I didn’t like leaving my babies with the nanny or the day mother or the crèche.
And during that time, I forgot that I used to like to write. I forgot that I had a vivid imagination. I forgot the joy of the printed word. Movies were for the weekends when the kids went to their dad, books were limited to Danielle Steele . I was in survival mode. Creativity showed up now and then in dreams about starting a business that would earn millions, in dreams of winning the Lotto, in dreams of meeting the real Mr. Right-for-me …
But in 2000, God put me through a bit of spiritual surgery, removing from my heart a dream that I’d clung to for several years. And in the aftermath, as I contemplated the aridity of my life-minus-the-fantasy, I started fiddling around with writing again. Puerile, imperfect scribblings littered my hard drive, words filled my mind, dreams fired up my imagination. I started a writers group, went to a couple of Christian writing conferences in the States (huge, unlooked-for blessings, both!) and moved out of the clinical field into working as a case manager / report writer and editor for a managed healthcare company. Retrenchment followed in early 2004 and I lived on UIF and a small redundancy package for six months before deciding to pursue a freelance writing / editing career.
Two and a half years later, we’re still living from hand to mouth, as I mix freelance work with occasional nursing shifts. Most of the work comes via a friend who runs a very successful graphic design studio, so I write and edit ads, brochures, folder inserts, directories and so on. When the work is there, the pay is great. When there’s no work, I do transcription (long hours, low pay but it’s at home) or nursing (long hours, mediocre pay, away from home). With some serious marketing, (not my strongest point), I reckon I could make a go of this, and still keep on writing fiction on my own time.
BUT … isn’t there always a ‘but’? BUT, there’s another dream in the pipeline. A good dream, a wonderful dream, a life-changing dream. A dream that will upset my current career applecart completely.
More tomorrow …
Friday, June 2
Anna Quindlen said ...
“… I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.”
This quote intrigues me. As a Christian, I learned that I need to let go, abandon my life to God, to leave all my hopes and dreams and desires in his hands. I also learned that no man could ever be that ‘wonderful person’ for me, because men are just as human and needy and imperfect as women—as I am--and no one man can ever meet my every need. So all I can do is leave my needs in God's hands, look to him for fulfilment, contentment, and love.
Reading Anna Q gives me pause for thought, though… and it's not a comfortable pause, either.
This quote intrigues me. As a Christian, I learned that I need to let go, abandon my life to God, to leave all my hopes and dreams and desires in his hands. I also learned that no man could ever be that ‘wonderful person’ for me, because men are just as human and needy and imperfect as women—as I am--and no one man can ever meet my every need. So all I can do is leave my needs in God's hands, look to him for fulfilment, contentment, and love.
Reading Anna Q gives me pause for thought, though… and it's not a comfortable pause, either.
Wednesday, May 31
Unravelling my life
I started reading Richard Foster’s book on prayer a few days ago, hoping to find my way back to the time when to breathe was to pray, and to pray was to know with unshakeable knowing that God IS and IS GOOD. Chapter One was Simple Prayer. ‘Dear God, help me! Bless me! Feed me!’ and so on. Prayer 101, so to speak. But Chapter Two is called The Prayer of the Forsaken and when I read it, something clicked deep inside.
"We know theologically that God is always with us, but theological niceties are little help when we enter the Sahara of the heart, when we experience real spiritual desolation ... we feel abandoned by God. Every hope evaporates the moment we reach for it. Every dream dies the moment we try to realize it. We question, we doubt, we struggle. We pray and the words seem empty... etc."
He goes on to explain what a blessing the dark night can be, as God uses it to strip us of dependence on outward things, like church and liturgy and control - and also strips us of dependence on inward things, like our superficial drives and human strivings and needs. I groaned in recognition of some of the things he said, like: "...we become tentative and unsure of ourselves. The nagging questions become relentless 'Is prayer only a psychological trick? Is there any real meaning in the universe? Does God really exist and if he does, is he good and intent on our goodness, or not?'” Yes and amen! Those are my questions! And yet, I feel so afraid and so guilty when they come spilling out of me, swooshing out on tides of tears and bitterness and desperation.
I recognize this place. I’ve been here before. The wasteland is familiar, full of pain and doubt and yearning. Two years ago, I spent nearly nine months in this place, and when I left it, I hoped it was for good. But it seems that for some reason, I’m back here again. Am I just depressed? It doesn’t feel that way. Am I stressed out? Maybe – but then, as a good Christian, shouldn’t I be clinging to God to get thru the stress, not standing here wondering if He’s real, or if He cares. But that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling of late.
Richard Foster goes on to say that through our barrenness of soul, God is producing detachment, humility, patience and perseverance. And he concludes this particular chapter with the words quoted above, spoken first by Bernard of Clairvaux: O my God, deep calls unto deep. The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of your infinite mercy.
There are several areas that trouble me at present and that are so interwoven in my mind that it’s going to take a while to unravel them all. Things like our proposed emigration and related issues of what kind of work am I going to do for the next twenty years and where will I be doing it. Will I be spending the rest of my life alone, unloved and undesired by a man? Will I ever find contentment in God alone?
One thing at a time. Starting tomorrow….
Elleann.
Skating warily over thin ice.
"We know theologically that God is always with us, but theological niceties are little help when we enter the Sahara of the heart, when we experience real spiritual desolation ... we feel abandoned by God. Every hope evaporates the moment we reach for it. Every dream dies the moment we try to realize it. We question, we doubt, we struggle. We pray and the words seem empty... etc."
He goes on to explain what a blessing the dark night can be, as God uses it to strip us of dependence on outward things, like church and liturgy and control - and also strips us of dependence on inward things, like our superficial drives and human strivings and needs. I groaned in recognition of some of the things he said, like: "...we become tentative and unsure of ourselves. The nagging questions become relentless 'Is prayer only a psychological trick? Is there any real meaning in the universe? Does God really exist and if he does, is he good and intent on our goodness, or not?'” Yes and amen! Those are my questions! And yet, I feel so afraid and so guilty when they come spilling out of me, swooshing out on tides of tears and bitterness and desperation.
I recognize this place. I’ve been here before. The wasteland is familiar, full of pain and doubt and yearning. Two years ago, I spent nearly nine months in this place, and when I left it, I hoped it was for good. But it seems that for some reason, I’m back here again. Am I just depressed? It doesn’t feel that way. Am I stressed out? Maybe – but then, as a good Christian, shouldn’t I be clinging to God to get thru the stress, not standing here wondering if He’s real, or if He cares. But that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling of late.
Richard Foster goes on to say that through our barrenness of soul, God is producing detachment, humility, patience and perseverance. And he concludes this particular chapter with the words quoted above, spoken first by Bernard of Clairvaux: O my God, deep calls unto deep. The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of your infinite mercy.
There are several areas that trouble me at present and that are so interwoven in my mind that it’s going to take a while to unravel them all. Things like our proposed emigration and related issues of what kind of work am I going to do for the next twenty years and where will I be doing it. Will I be spending the rest of my life alone, unloved and undesired by a man? Will I ever find contentment in God alone?
One thing at a time. Starting tomorrow….
Elleann.
Skating warily over thin ice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
