Just suck it up and be nice.

The lyrics are out to get me.

It’s a typical day in my life these days: I’m at Starbucks. I’m looking for jobs. Shocker, right? Hardly.

Needless to say, it has been a typically frustrating morning. But that’s nothing new. These days I’m in a constant state of boosting myself up only to be knocked down again. These days my emotions follow a very constant and predictable pattern: I wake up confident and ready to conquer the day (and the job search), I go to the gym and my adrenaline is pumped up even more. I get to my office (i.e. Starbucks) and I’m ready to go. I start off strong, optimistic, and prepped for success. And then it happens…my confidence and enthusiasm is sucked out of me as if I’m a Vampire’s object of affection. And before I know it I’m totally drained, exhausted, once again defeated.

But I suppose all of that is totally irrelevant because that isn’t what this entry is about at all. Like I said, the lyrics are out to get me. But don’t worry Nickelback, today I’m won’t pick on you.

Just as I took a moment to push the pause button in my job search and bitch to a couple friends about how annoying and frustrating of a process it is, Pandora decides it needs to put me in my place.

Maybe you don’t like your job
Maybe you didn’t get enough sleep
Well nobody likes their job
Nobody got enough sleep
Maybe you just had
The worst day of your life
But, you know, there’s no escape
And there’s no excuse
So just suck up and be nice
Be nice
Be nice
Be nice…

Oh geez, I thought to myself as the ridiculous chorus repeats itself. Okay, okay, Pandora, you win. It’s not that serious. I know, I know, I’ve hardly scratched the surface of this transition. I’ve hardly put forth enough effort to warrant one complaint, much less, the crazy amount of complaints I’ve already tossed out. There is absolutely no reason to be in a constant state of feeling sorry for myself…at least not yet. Thanks, Pandora. I needed that reminder. I needed that laugh.

Yeah, I would like to perfect the art
Of being studiously aloof
Like life is just a boring chore
And I am living proof
I could join forces with an army of ornery hipsters
But then I guess I’d be out of a job
So I guess that’s out of the picture

The song I quoted above, Pixie, is by Ani DiFranco. I strongly recommend it to anyone that needs a good laugh and a reminder to not take life – or yourself – too seriously.

Multiverse.

I feel like I’m in an alternate universe. Or maybe a parallel universe. Or perhaps a multiverse, if you will…

Multiverse (or meta-universe [metaverse]): the hypothetical set of multiple possible universes (including our universe) that together comprise all of reality. The structure of the multiverse, the nature of each universe within it and the relationship between the various constituent universes, depend on the specific multiverse hypothesis considered.

Confusing, huh?

Exactly.

My universe, correction: my multiverse, is very confusing right now. Which is odd, because, on the surface it probably seems to be relatively simple.

My daily life consists of the following:

1. Wake up at 6:45
2. Go to The Weight Club, work out for approximately 1.5 hours
3. Return home, shower, prepare for the day
4. Go to Starbucks, drink espresso/job search/blog for approximately 6 hours
5. [Occasionally I will relocate to Panera for lunch & a change of scenery]
6. Return home, relax for a couple hours
7. Eat dinner
8. Continue to job search until I get tired
9. Go to bed
10. Repeat from the beginning

Pretty straight forward. Pretty scheduled. Pretty routine. So where does the confusion come into play?

…between the lines…

When I’m at home, I feel like I’m back in high school.

When I’m at The Weight Club, surrounded by Virginia Tech students, I feel like I’m back in college.

And, oddly enough, when I’m at Starbucks, I’m more confused than any other time of day. When I’m at Starbucks, I feel like I’m in one of three universes: 1) I feel like I’m back in Boston, it’s a typical Saturday or Sunday morning and I’m starting my day with a latte, a good book and a blog entry or 2) finally! I’ve found my dream job! I get to spend all day at Starbucks people watching, drinking coffee, reading and blogging! or 3) the actual reality of the situation – I’m at Starbucks looking for a new job because I’m unemployed and living at home.

So this is my multiverse. My “reality.” I wish I could dilute the confusion, but honestly, I’m not sure if I’m able to decompose the structure of my hypothetical set of multiple possible universes.

Clutch.

I drive a manual car. Also known as a stick. Or a standard. Or a straight, as my dear mother would say. Regardless of what you call it, it is not an automatic.

However, since I’ve been back in my lovely home state of Virginia, I have been forced to drive an automatic…twice. And it was absolutely petrifying. I know what you’re thinking…

What?! Is she nuts? It’s easy to drive an automatic. The manual transmission is what people typically have difficulty driving.

Well, as you probably know by now, I am not typical. And as crazy as it sounds, when I started driving a manual car 6 years ago, I think I forgot how to drive an automatic. Yes, I forgot. Again, I know what your thinking…

What?! Okay, now she must be nuts! How can anyone forget to drive an automatic? It’s like riding a bike. You learn once and you know how to do it for life.

Not true. At least not for me. In the random and sporadic moments in which I have had to drive an automatic over the last several years, I panicked. Each – and every – time I struggled to jump back on that bike. Why, you ask?

Well, for starters, I didn’t feel like I was doing enough behind the wheel of the “easy” automatic. By definition, an automatic vehicle sort of does the work for you. And I had a very difficult time relinquishing the control. So what did I do?

Each time I approached a curve or a stop or a hill I slammed on the break pedal as if it was the clutch. Oops!

You are driving an automatic. You are not driving a manual. You do not need to shift gears. You do not need to use a clutch.

I repeated this mantra to myself over and over again and yet, I continued to push the break pedal with my left foot as if it was a clutch as I reached over with my right hand to shift gears.

Crazy, right? Even worse — this did not happen just once. And it has not happened only twice. It hasn’t happened a hand full of times. Oh no…every time I have driven an automatic since I became a stick-shift girl, I have had to constantly remind myself not to attempt to use a non-existent clutch.

I drove an automatic today for the second time since I’ve been back in Virginia. And I am happy to report that I am doing a little better at operating an automatic vehicle. So far, I haven’t had any sudden jolts due to my use of an imaginary clutch.

But I have to laugh at myself. I have never met – or even heard of – anyone who has had this issue adjusting to driving an automatic again after getting used to a manual. So, what is my problem?

Warning: I am about to throw out one of my could-be-a-bit-of-a-stretch analogies.

I see my response towards driving an automatic car similar to my response towards life. Okay, okay, hear me out on this one. In life, I like to have control. In life, I like to ease into transitions and changes. When driving a manual vehicle, I feel like I have more control. When driving a manual vehicle, I can use the clutch and the gear shift to ease into the transition. Whether I am approaching a curve, a stop sign,  a hill or merging onto an Interstate, I am responsible for making the subtle changes that allow the car to respond to the situation on the road.

See? It makes sense, doesn’t it?

It doesn’t matter if I’m driving along a real road or the road of life, I like my clutch and I like my control.

Always changing. Always the same.

I’m in transition…a fact that should be apparent to pretty much everyone who comes into contact with me these days. I can’t help but constantly think about it. I can’t help but constantly write about it (sorry, my dear readers). I can’t help but constantly talk about it. And it is no secret that I am totally consumed by it.

As I navigate through these choppy and scary waters of transition, I find that I am not only searching for a new job and trying to settle myself into a new life, but I am also trying to rediscover myself. Just yesterday I wrote that I really found myself during my 3 years in Boston. Yes, that’s true. However, I also wrote that I found the person I will always be while I was in Boston. Upon further reflection, I really hope that part isn’t true. Always is a very strong word. I don’t think I want to always be anything. I hope that I continue to change and grow throughout the rest of my life, throughout every transition of my life. Sure, at this very moment in time, I feel as if the here and the now are monumentally important, but I know several years down the road (several months even), everything I’m going through now will seem so trivial, so silly, so unimportant… this moment will simply be a memory, simply another detour in the forever curvy, forever changing road of life.

So where am I going with this? Contrary to my post yesterday, I know I will always be in a state of change (at least to some degree), but I also know that a part of me (the person I am at my very core), will always be the same. And I don’t think I should be resistant to either. I think I need to take comfort in both the things that change as well as the things that remain the same. It’s a good balance.

Goodbye.

…such a simple word for something that is so far from simple. How could seven little letters possibly tell the whole story?

Goodbye just doesn’t seem to do the experience (or the people) to which (or whom) you are saying goodbye justice.

Goodbye is too short. Just two syllables and it’s all over. It’s too quick — especially when quick is actually the opposite of what it (the people, the places, the moments, the experience…everything) was.

I wonder who decided that the word “goodbye” would be enough to represent what it actually means. And when are goodbyes actually good?

I have a tendency to to prolong goodbyes. I’ve been saying goodbye to Boston for several weeks now. Some people might think that this would make the transition even more difficult, but for me, it has helped ease the discomfort of the change. It has allowed me to take time appreciating everything (and everyone) I love before having to actually leave this city. And it has allowed me to start coming to terms with the final goodbye, the final moment when my bags are packed and I drive off into the sunset towards my new life. I know it may seem silly and a bit dramatic, but please try to excuse me as I perpetuate and romanticize this goodbye. Because for me, seven letters just aren’t enough.

Manipulating my dreams

When I was younger, I was endlessly fascinated by my dreams. I even kept a journal where I would rapidly write them down when I first woke up in the morning so I would be sure to remember the involuntary patterns of mind. I spent hours trying to decode the meanings and messages of my dreams.

As I grew up, however, the curiosity about my dreamlike state of mind gradually subsided. Don’t get me wrong, I still find dreams to be extremely intriguing. I guess I just don’t have as much time for dream dissection.

But this morning was different.

I woke up saddened, angry and confused. And then I realized that which I was upset about didn’t really happen. It was just a dream.

Now let’s pause for a few quick tidbits of information that will inevitably come into play later (in this entry as well as in many of my entries that will soon follow)…

1. I love Starbucks
2. I love “my” Starbucks baristas
3. I recently quit my job in Boston
4. In a few weeks I will be leaving Boston
5. I have been flip flopping back & forth about my feelings regarding the later two points

Okay, back to my dream last night…

It was just like any other afternoon. Around 2 or 3 o’clock: Starbucks break. It was often the only precious moments of personal time etched into my entire work day. As my fellow coffee-addicted colleague and I walked into “my” Starbucks, the baristas greeted us by name (actually, they only greeted me by name, but that’s beside the point, although I suppose it could be relevant later). We ordered our drinks. And for some odd reason I ordered my morning drink (a double tall non-fat extra-hot latte), which was strange because I tend to mix things up in the afternoon, but I suppose that’s beside the point. As we waited for our drinks, we launched into our routine round of afternoon gossip.

And then it happened…or didn’t happen, rather. They never called out my name. They never called out my drink.

At first we weren’t too concerned. After all, we always have A LOT to talk about. But the clock kept ticking so eventually I casually asked, “Excuse me, I just wanted to check on my drink. I think it may have gotten lost or something.” And then the barista (note: this was not actually one of “my” baristas, but some random dream intruder barista) let me have it…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Your drink has been sitting here this entire time you’ve been chit chatting away!”

I was flabbergasted. “What?!” I responded quietly, cautiously, ” I don’t see it…”

“Right here,” she says as she holds up a short (and by this point the opposite of extra-hot) latte.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but that isn’t what I ordered.”

Just as the words released themselves from my lips, another barista chimes in, “Of course not. That’s typical. She always has a complaint.”

At this point, I was positively speechless – especially because this second barista was one of “my” baristas (in real life, outside of this dream – or should we say nightmare – encounter)! I never complain, I thought to myself! If anything, I hold back my complaints…even when I have something legitimate to complain about! Plus, everyone here loves me! Why would they ever think – much less say – such a terrible, not to mention untrue, remark?

I woke up shaken and hurt. Why had they been so mean? So out of character? I immediately thought about how frustrating it was going to be to go out of my way to go to a different Starbucks on the way to work. And then it hit me: it was just a dream.

Suddenly I was filled with an amazing sense of relief. And in more ways than one. First of all, I was incredibly grateful that that horrible Starbucks experience didn’t actually happen. And secondly, I started to wonder if my subconscious nighttime thoughts were trying to send me a message. Sure, nobody is going to kick me out of the city of Boston (or my favorite Starbucks for that matter) by being mean to me, but it is time to leave. I believe my dream was trying to tell me to let go. To let go of my Starbucks, often (as crazy as it may sound) the best part of my day. To let go of Boston. And on a deeper lever, to let go of my comfort zone.

Maybe it’s a bit of a stretch, but if I have to manipulate the meaning of my dreams to make me feel better about this incredibly bittersweet transition, than that is exactly what I’m going to do…but, and please hear this my dear subconsciousness, I don’t need another dream like that to convince me any further!

Almost officially over.

The very thought sends a sharp stab throughout my stomach, throughout my head, throughout my entire body, actually.

The paper sits lifelessly at the corner of my desk. It isn’t really asking me to sign that line which represents the end. But just it’s very presence makes me nervous. I am aware of it lingering. Not just the piece of paper. But everything the paper symbolizes as well.

Now it’s all different. It isn’t just in my head. The paper represents the reality. Is it best to just do it quickly? Fast and in one motion so it’s less painful? Like pulling off a band-aid.

Is this what it feels like to get a divorce? It must be similar. So much meaning in just a quick signature. It doesn’t really seem fair, does it? How can a signature – or a pair of signatures – possibly tell the whole story? How can it possibly be that simple?

The paper remains. Waiting? Waiting for me to massage gently it with the tip of my pen. So easy. In theory. But I can’t quite bring myself to face it yet. I know the end is just around the corner, but I can’t quite bring myself to admit that wholeheartedly. I can’t acknowledge it. Not yet. Soon. But not yet.