Angel 101

About six months ago I was sitting at my desk at work listening to my worrisome inner dialogue chatter on about a few areas of my life I needed help with. I was, at that time, uncertain about my precarious employment situation (being in a term position) in the middle of a recession, and divine intervention seemed necessary. "I need some help here", is what I recall clearly stating in my mind amongst all the cluttered chatter. And so I sat there and, on a sticky note, drew myself an angel. I gave her a wee little heart. I coloured the picture in. And then I explained to her what it was I felt I needed after I pinned her to my computer screen (poor thing).

Since then, I have gradually seen a multitude of changes in my life. Somehow, amidst a recession, in a province that is still struggling to get on its feet, I managed to get a permanent job with the federal government. At the time I applied for the job, I did not really think I needed it. I thought I would stay on with the Alberta Government; that they would extend or make permanent my position with them. But something in me (or outside of me) said "APPLY". Similarly, when it came time to do the screening assignment and interview for the position, I didn't want to. After all, I was probably going to stay on in my current job, right? But again, something urged me on. "Do the assignment", "Just go to the interview". I did.

Shortly after doing the interview for the job with the federal government, I was told by the Alberta Government that they would no longer be extending me past my term with them, which came as a big shock to me and my team. They also said they could not tranfer me to another area within the Alberta Government, as so many other laid-off employees who had priority over me would be getting anything available. As you may recall from a previous post, I went through a range of emotions that most people go through when getting laid off. As I sorted through my resentment and feelings of inadequacy, I felt a different force pulling me into a state of acceptance and surrender. "Everything will be fine". And so I just drifted on, trying to stay open.

It was not long after that when I received news from the federal government that I got the job I had applied and interviewed for. I asked myself how it was so: with a hiring freeze in the Alberta Government, and the province struggling through the recession, weren't there a lot of people like me competing for that permanent job with the federal government? Positions in that area of work are sparse, even across the country. And somehow, I did it.

I have been slowly starting to pack up my desk at my current job, ready to make the transition soon. Last Friday I was putting away some files on a metal file rack that sits on one of my low filing cabinets. Because the files are thick, it took a bit of shimmying to get them in, which shifted the file rack around a bit. Then I saw this small flash of white from beneath the files. I moved the rack aside. And there she was: a small little porcelain angel. Beneath her dress was a small porcelain bell that made a sweet tinkling sound. She held a harp in her hands. I was amazed. Had she been there the whole time? How many times have I filed things onto that rack and never seen her? How long had she been there?

I looked over at my computer screen to see the sticky note angel I had crafed half a year ago. I peeled the sticky note off, and measured both angels against each other. Same size. Same short, fair hair, which matched the colours of their gowns. But the one I drew had a heart in her centre, whereas the porcelain one had a harp. I later said to my boyfriend, "but mine had a heart". To which he replied, "Harp?". "No, heart", I said. Heart. Harp. Hmm.

I took both the angels home, as a reminder that the universe is listening. Soon I will have the time and space to reflect on all the things I have learned over the past year. And I will continue on with my beginners class in Angel 101.

Liberation

Something always seems to feel so good about ending a job. I don't think getting laid off is a great thing for everyone, but if you have another job waiting in the offing afterwards, being unemployed for a little while can provide some liberation. I particularly like that ending a job somewhere means that I also get to end a power relationship with that employer. It's not that all bosses are terrible tyrrants; it's just that they no longer have say over what I do. They just become regular people again, rather than overlords of the soul.

For a little while, once my current job soon ends, I will begin a journey back into myself for a while. I will wake up to a whole day that is my own during a weekday, and listen to CBC radio while wondering what to do with myself. And then I will do whatever suits my fancy, with hopefully few restrictions. I will ask the great questions in life while looking out the window, holding a hot cup of tea. I will sit on the deck outside and be delighted that the robins have come. I will plan a garden. I will repot plants. I will enjoy all the little things in life and somehow rediscover myself in the process.

It's amazing what the daily grind can do to a person. Somewhere along the path we forget who we are. I say "we" because of all the lifeless expressions of office workers I pass by on a daily basis, if not in the bus, then in the halls at work. I suspect I look the same. But give these office workers a taste of liberation, even if just in the form of a month long holiday, and watch them come to life.

I keep thinking back to some pictures I was recently viewing on a friend's Facebook album. It included some outdoor concert events that she attended with her partner and 2 year old daughter. Everyone looks so happy. Children are playing. People are dancing. Open fields, mountains. Tye-dye everywhere. A hippie-fest. A dose of life and carelessness. Why do so many of us forget?

Bitch

Quite a few years back into my treeplanting days, my company came out one year with complimentary t-shirts for us to wear that displayed our team pride. On the front of the shirt was our company logo. On the back was simply "100%". We all thought the back was a bit hoakey. I thought it needed something. So, with a black felt marker, I scribed "Bitch" under the screenprint, so that it read "100% Bitch". I loved that shirt. I think someone else did, too, because it went missing one year in the dry tent.

The thing is, something like that is only titillating for others to see you wear if you aren't really a bitch; if you are just a 'pretend bitch', because you are just too sweet to be a 'for-real bitch'. Sweet women who get bitchy sometimes are tolerated. Or considered cute. Real bitches are hated.

The office environment is the perfect petri dish to try on different personas and see what happens. There have been office work environments that I have entered with a smile, willing to befriend everyone. Engratiating. Humble. Does this earn a woman respect? My assessment says no. You might make a few friends with the display of approachable, unintimidating behavior, at best. But respect? No.

After a few rebuffs at my friendy-faced persona in the past, I have tried the stone-cold bitch face: not bothering to say hi to people who don't usually go out of their way for me, and holding my head high while mostly expressionless. Being opinionated and cocky in the boardroom. Carrying myself like I don't give a shit about what people think. Does this win friends? Not really. Does it win respect? That depends. Because I've seen people pull it off. But they were all men.

Women who act like this are mostly considered to be bitches. Women who are uncompromising, women who don't cater, women who aren't submissively accomodating of others. These women are under-appreciated. But not by me. I admire the courage it takes to be true to themselves rather than spending enormous amounts of energy catering to others. I love their non-conformity.

Don't get me wrong, I love all my sweet, friendly sisters out there, to whom a smile comes naturally. I love my sisters who put energy into caring for others. I appreciate the men who do, as well. I think being friendly and caring and aware of others is great. But sometimes it's nice just to rest in one's own quiet power, and not give a shit about what anybody thinks of it.

Into the Wild

Okay, things are looking on the up and up these days. Got a job offer with the federal government that I think I'm going to take. That I'm going to take. And it's a pretty juicy one, too. This will keep me out of the bush.

For a while there, I was contemplating heading back out into the wild, folks, after my looming lay-off from my current job. The wild has been calling to me ever since I left my 12 year long love affair with treeplanting (okay, perhaps it would be better termed a "relationship" with treeplanting, which might include 'love' but also includes a lot of other things on the love/hate spectrum). Oh, those surrounding forests filled with birdsong, the fresh air, the mountains, the sense of freedom and total disengagement from society, how I miss thee. I don't know if I was necessarily going to go back treeplanting this year (had it not been for the new offer), but I may have taken up an opportunity to do other kinds of forestry work with a former bush colleague who now has her own surveying business. And I must admit, that though the Wild Woman has been taken out of the Wild, the prospect of going back made my step lighter. It cleared my head. It gave me a glimpse of life without the chains that inevitably snake around your ankles when you are an office worker. But there is a downside to bush work: no benefits, lower pay, and being away from home, to be followed by periods of unemployment. Does that hold up to a cushy government job? Uh, no. Is it better for the soul? Yes. And the conundrum continues for the Wild Woman. But onwards we go.

I did have a dream recently that likely stemmed from my recent reconsideration of returning to the bush. In my dream, I was back in the treeplanting world, having returned after 5 years of sabbatical from it. I stood on the side of a dirt road, next to my assigned piece of clearcut for the day. Beside me was my cache of trees and my bags, with a few other treeplanters mulling around getting ready to start the day. I was wearing my classic orange caulk boots, feeling clumsy with their heaviness that I had become unaccustomed to over the years. I stepped on my water bottle, putting several small punctures in it. There went my water for the day. I commented to my fellow planters that I was feeling clumsy in my reaquaintance with planting life as I hauled on my heavy bags filled with trees. I scuttled up the cut-bank feeling that old familiar weight on my knees, the heavy load in my bags making my legs feel compressed. I planted my first spruce tree in a nice shady spot. Good micro-siting! I took a few steps and planted another, properly spaced off the large residual tree left standing. But as I worked my way over the hill within my piece, I noticed a lot of people everywhere, as if camped out. There were hundreds of them. Apparently they were some sort of cult. How was I supposed to plant my piece with a cult hanging out on it? And on the dream went, through a scenario that involved my subsequent negotiations with a cult leader. Who knows what it meant. But it was better than a dream I had many years ago about planting chicken drumsticks (meat side down).

So no bush work for me this year. Perhaps this will be the last time that I consider going back there, into the wild, to earn my living. The winds of fate have blown this little leaf into another office for now. Though I'm sure my dreams of the wild will continue on, as they always have.