No poem yesterday. In an attempt to slay my own perfectionistic tendencies, I’ve decided to relax my goal of doing a poem a day, if a particular day doesn’t work out. To be honest, my drive to be accountable makes me cringe and feel anxious at the idea of NOT achieving the goal I publicly committed to, and yet when I finally let myself off the hook, I was able to relax. So this is progress for me! I still want to try to write a poem a day this month, but if it doesn’t work out, I’m not going to beat myself up.
That said, today’s poem is actually one I wrote in the poetry challenge of 2018. It has recently been popping its head up and I’ve had a few people express interest in hearing it. So I will post it here– it’s a message that I myself need to be reminded of again and again. I hope it may be helpful to others too.
Not Too Late
A bit about me and jobs, and no-jobs…
I started working as an office temp a few years ago. After a short and challenging stint as a Personal Care Assistant, I had been job hunting for several months. Even though there were employers looking for my skills and education, I was having a hard time getting interviews. I’m sure there were many reasons for this, but it didn’t help that I’d been out of the work force for years to raise kids.
So temping it was. I had done it in my 20s and enjoyed the variety. I knew it would give me more experience and a chance to prove myself in more traditional workplaces again. And it worked– I soon had a good reputation and repeat customers. Better yet, I made money while doing it! I also got to work at some interesting places– like MPR, WCCO-TV, and even an in-patient drug rehab center. I have some interesting stories to tell from each of these places! Continue reading
[In which one writer finds other things to do with notebooks and pens besides furiously scribbling words.]
I have had a love-affair with art supply stores for years. Mostly it was drooling at all the colors and paints and pencils and artsy stuff like a kid in a candy store, but then circling back around to my “safe” area– pens and notebooks. I love buying pens and notebooks, as do so many of my writerly friends. How fun to pick up different pens for $2 or $3, and fill up the tabla rasa of white pages.
And then, inspired by a writer-friend who was diving deeply into making art as well, I started dipping my toe in, buying a few art supplies myself. Maybe a little watercolor box (cheap, like kids use), some colored pencils, some markers. I found a few Groupons for getting great discounts at art stores, and then I could really have some fun buying stuff. I didn’t know what I was buying and I felt like a fake in the aisles, an art imposter, but bought them anyway.
And then I put all of them in this set of drawers by my writing desk, and mostly never used them. Occasionally, I might hesitantly give something a try, like dabbling with some water colors, playing around, but not much. I had a yearning, but let all the discouraging voices in my head get the better of me. Some supplies I never even opened… Continue reading