Hope at the Violet Hour of My Despair

Royalty-free Image: Girl with arms outstretched at sunset on the…

My mother spoke comforting words into the pre-dawn night’s – her voice steady and calming through the phone, soothing my rampant, dark panic.

“It’s always darkest before the dawn.” My mother said.

“But it’s been a twelve-year dawn, Mom,” I would counter, smoking, nerves frayed.  Then…

“Even for us there will be a softening in the wind.”  She said, wisely, like a prayer.

And my spirit took comfort.  She, I believe, has found a softening in the wind, through death, though my spirit dwells with her still.  But at last, after a year of praying, meditating, howling, roiling, and raging at my destiny, I have three job offers on the table.  As the strain drains from my body, I find a softened, tired, grateful shadow, hands raised in a boxing position, still battering at windmills.

God came through at precisely the moment when I was drained, wondering how and if I could reinvent myself, fashion my being into something and someone that was marketable in this changing labor landscape.  I’ve sold 25k worth of jewelry and had about two months of liquidity left before hammering my meager stock portfolio.  A long over due bank loan against my apartment was the last resort and that’s scheduled to come through, though they are rechecking my loan since I am in Zone A – high risk area – post hurricane Sandy.

I need time to process the offers and to at last choose the one that is best for me.  I will take time to find gratitude in a battle wearied spirit.  I will thank the friends who have stood as encouraging banners against the winds of my despair.  At the violet hour of my discontent, there is relief.  I can rest without thinking that I may need to move, without dreading the next day.  Now I have to reapply myself to work.  This vast expanse of time has also given me some space to heal and pursue other hobbies, jewelry-making, boxing, writing….late nights and early afternoon mornings. http://tinyurl.com/a7m5ras

I no longer have an excuse to indulge in self sabotaging behaviors like refusing to eat because I can’t afford decent restaurants now; gnawing my cuticles thinking that is nourishment and protein; dating men who don’t interest me because I’ve lost interest in my tired story; driving through the hurricane soaked streets of New York with no gas left in the tank; waiting on gas lines during a blizzard; obsessively watching Rock of Ages because I find Tom Cruise unbelievable sexy in the role; waiting until dawn before trying to sleep.

My cats cuddle next to me in winter’s awakening dawn, fur-thickened Persian bodies comforting me and telling me that they knew all would be well.  I feel their silky purring reassurances and close my eyes – tonight there will be rest.

When you’ve walked the last mile on your road and can no longer see a clear path before you, believe in yourself and a higher power who holds you steady against the bruising winds.  A friend recently wrote that I should “keep knocking on those doors” and that “kindness rebounds.”

Thanks for the reminder.

Day Five: Sixty Days Job Searching or Losing My Sanity which will come First?

The right brain cells collided at the right time and voila! – cognition.  A large company, think affiliated with Richard Branson- I can say no more – has viewed my polished resume and cover letter, has sent me a psychological test and upon satisfactory completion, another test – a small version of a GMAT or some such – and I passed.  I have been escorted from the void of anonymity and ushered  to the heady realm of possibility.  I scored an interview for Monday morning.

Remaining positive is crucial, essential.  Searching for a job and a relationship in New York can erase the hard drive of the most dedicated and stalwart individual.  I will grasp and savor my victories where I find them. It is essential that I ignore the voices that chatter about running my own company at this point, fame as an author, and of course, can I seriously still not have met a man that I can tolerate?  Seriously?  I did divorce 12 years ago.  Surely these drek ridden years slogging through first dates, blind dates, unexpected sightings at neighborhood places and the attendant blasphemous expectations that demoralize the best of us – surely – I should be further along.

The facts are that these are the worst of times.  Many people are suffering, struggling and losing ground daily.  I am still ensconced in my comfortable UES apartment.  I still afford some trinkets that lighten my mood and my wallet.  I have some friends who are seriously rooting for me or will just be happy when I’ve stopped complaining.   I can get to the gym and punch a bag with my pink boxing gloves.  And I enjoy the Bravo “Reality” shows while I cycle furiously on the stationary bike.  My insomnia has been offset by my ability to sleep in and post my resumes later in the morning.  My cats assure me that they enjoy spending more time with me.  And I can share my experiences, strength and hope with you, dear reader.

I comfort myself with the belief that the sheer enterprise and vast dynamism that defines New York puts me at an advantage.  There is an employer who will value my humor, dedication and experience.  And dare I believe, even a man who will understand my gypsy soul, though it has long been grounded.  How does one compete with some of the best, brightest, youngest, most cutting edge talent in the world?  My answer – by believing in yourself.  I take a lot of media meetings as a sales woman, and I have a part-time job which has kept me from slipping over the edge.  I see people who are enjoying careers and advancement.  I believe that I have a similarly impressive skill set.  I’ve earned millions for my employers, surely I am employable and worthy of worthy companionship.

At an age when most people are settled and bemoaning the corrosive familiarity of their lives, partners, careers, I am forced to reinvent myself.  Just at the time that I want to kick back and troll travel sites with my partner and plan our next vacation in Vietnam or Venice, I am counting dollar bills and eating tuna fish sandwiches for dinner.  Now that I want to roll over in bed and stroke the chest of the man that I love, I inhale sweet warm cat breath and snuggle with my Persian cats.  Life is unexpected.  So I choose to expect the best. I’ve tried the alternative and almost wound up in Bellevue.  I have a choice, and I choose to face this challenge with confidence and courage.  I choose to grow strong at my broken places.