Ready for…Something

After another difficult week at work, the weekend has finally arrived.  I slept late today–something my body has been craving–but now I am exhausted again.  As is has turned out, I am spending today and tomorrow almost completely alone.  I planned to visit home, but had to change my plans due to a “date” with the cable guy this afternoon. 

I want to know where my friends are.  I am 22 years old, and I suddenly find myself completely alone in a big city with absolutely nothing to do except unpack boxes and go to Home Depot.  There are no shortage of interesting places here, and yet I cannot find the motivation, or the company, that I need to venture out of this apartment.  How do I make friends?  All I do is work and ride the bus and go to the grocery.  I’ve made a neighborhood friend, and we’ve actually gone to the farmer’s market together and kept each other company on the bus.  But aside from that, I have no consistent friendship to lean on.  Where is the buddy I can call everyday to go eat or to talk about TV or to shop?  I’m on no one’s “list;” in no one’s clique.

Basically, I’m lonely.  The Boyfriend called today.  He’s having a wonderful time with his friends: tailgaiting, laughing, hanging out.  He has so many, and I can’t help but be jealous.  Everyone I know lives miles and miles away, and I’m too stupid and depressed to go meet new people.  I like to stay at home and get my apartment settled.  Sometimes I’d rather not go out.  But you know, today I needed someone, or something.  And I had nothing.

The Bus Is a Morning Must

Every morning I catch the bus to work.

The air is crisp and new, free of the smog that sits heavily in the evening. Golden light flickers on the trees when it’s sunny, and dewy fog softens the landscape when it’s rainy. There is something incredibly promising about that morning wait at the bus stop. I watch people drive by in their cars, waiting for the day to begin. No one seems bogged down…yet.

When I get on the bus, I settle in and watch the activity on the streets as we pass. It’s a rare moment for me to suspend reality. Soon I will also be in motion–but not yet. There is less stress on the morning bus. Somehow, I’m liberated knowing the commute is out of my control.

I am still, for now.

My Best

Work is getting the best of me.

I never realized the truth that hackneyed expression could hold. My job really is taking the best part of my day, the best part of my sanity, and the best part of my emotion. I guess it goes without saying that things have been stressful. I work 10 hour days–at least–and yet I only chip away at the mountain of tasks before me. It’s a mountain I’ve been climbing every day since I took the position, and I’m starting to feel the strain.

I cannot imagine working this hard for a cause over which I held no conviction. Would I be able to cut it out there? No doubt I could suck it up if I had a family, but in my current situation I would be miserable. I have friends who work for a very large insurance company, and I never get the sense that they are invested in their work. It’s just work, and they can seperate that from their personal lives.

Maybe that is my problem. My work is so connected with who I am that I can’t leave it. I feel personally responsible for my team’s success, personally responsible for every detail. There’s no way I or anyone on my team could do the minimum and clock out at 5:00 on the dot. We were hired for our goal-oriented outlooks and strong sense of personal responsibility.

There’s been a weight on my chest for several weeks now. I can’t shake it; it physically hurts. There has got to be a way for me to deal with my stress. I am in Month Two of this job and I’m already breaking down. I’ve got to figure out how to deal, and I’ve got to do it fast.

Thank Heaven for a Salary

I like to think of my salary as a pair of jeans–comfortable, flexible, unpretentious. Levis, not designer. At first things are tight, but in time you break ‘em in. A non-profit salary is like that pair you love–not fancy, but oh so wonderful to wear.

My salary has allowed me to keep a comfy apartment in a decent part of town, away from the bustle but still pretty far from a Wal-Mart. It’s an old place with no washer/dryer hookups, but there are lots of trees and flowers around. There’s a grocery store within walking distance and the pool is very clean. Even if I lost the roommate, I’d still be able to make rent and have a little left over for Thai food delivery.

Before I started working, I thought a lot about the money I would make. Now, the money itself is not nearly as valuable as the quality of my existence. My salary allows me to focus on things I really want: hard work, respect, creature comforts, optimism, idealism. The more I think about income, something that for many of us is so basic, the more grateful I become. I can’t help but wonder how different things would be if I had been born into other life circumstances. In my family, a steady income was normal and expected, but for many it simply is not.

Does this mean I should feel guilty in my comfortable apartment with digital cable and air conditioning?

I don’t think so. In my opinion, the key is to always keep one’s eyes and heart open, maintaining generosity of spirit and utilizing one’s gifts and assets for good. I know a woman who gives without thought. She opens her home freely and never expects anything in return. She understands that she cannot “change” people, but that she can help them feel empowered and loved. This is what I believe, too.

As happy as I am to have a salary, I’m even happier to work for a cause in which I wholeheartedly believe. The organization invests in me, and I invest in it. I hope that in documenting my first year of work for a nonprofit organization, I can alleviate some of the fears associated with such a big adjustment. I am convinced that work can be meaningful if it ignites a spark within–I wish nothing less for myself and everyone else!