Tremors, Change, Transience

There's been a lot of talk about earthquakes lately, predictions of the big Cascadia quake that will apparently someday wipe out much of Seattle and Portland and the rest of the coastline up here, with the help of its resulting tsunami. I had my couple of days of intense anxiety over it, but then I realized that although my own death is scary (and inevitable), what really distressed me was that all my friends up here could die, and that afterward I might be living in a sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland where everything I'd loved was gone and I had to watch people suffer in mass numbers.

(I've since learned that the Sound is likely to prevent any real tsunamis on its shores, so the worst hit areas are on the coast of the open ocean, and more of us have a chance of survival than the first article seemed to suggest. I guess that just goes to show: always take your initial doomsday predictions with a grain of salt).

But that's not what this post is about. It's just interesting because in the midst of my anxiety about that, I realized the root of it was my fear of loss, my fear of change. Everything is temporary. Everything we start could easily go unfinished, abruptly cut off by a sudden death or other unforeseen interruption. Accepting that transience as a natural part of life is the only real security any of us can find in the long run. Everything will change in some way, eventually. If not there would be no growth. That's all Earth is trying to do, really, with these quakes... it's going on with the natural process of its lifespan, with its plates colliding to make mountains and perhaps pull them down again.

The beautiful Cascade Mountains, formed by the same plate collision
that could eventually DESTROY US ALLLLL

This came in the middle of my first serious job hunt in a long time. I've been working at the bookstore/gift shop, paid minimum wage with no prospects for a raise for nearly three years and there were a couple of brief moments where I looked for something better but couldn't seem to find it. So I settled back in again. My coworkers were great, for the most part, I cared about being part of that team and I liked the level of proficiency I had at my specific position. It was enough that my managers would ask ME questions about how to put things properly into inventory. That was a good feeling. But the not so good feelings came when little by little other duties were added to my list in the midst of the busiest time of year for receivers. Last year the pre-Christmas stress was, to put it mildly, really bad. I spent weeks wrestling with constant anxiety while surrounded by nearly ceiling-high towers of boxes, trying to work faster and faster because the owners were getting wild-eyed and setting deadlines, and I wore myself out shuffling 30-40 pound boxes around every few hours. All for what? So people could buy STUFF that was, for the most part, not necessary, and for the most part, made by people paid hugely worse wages and living in much worse conditions than I. That was how I saw it. And some of the stuff we sell is truly useless and absurd and will probably get thrown into a landfill within a year of being bought. Finger pickles, anyone?

Anyway....

There were a lot of times when I felt under-appreciated, and people's eventual thank-yous felt like colorful band-aids to keep me complacent. Even when I got a special bonus after a particularly work-heavy month or two, I felt simultaneously grateful and angry and confused. I struggled not to burst into tears. I'm apparently still not very good at dealing with emotions or figuring out how to express what I need even at 26 years. But I should have realized something was wrong when I started having occasional daydreams about throwing entire boxes of merchandise in front of an oncoming train (no joke, I seriously would fantasize about breaking stuff. The imagery was very satisfying).

After that was when I swore I would find something better before Fall of 2015. I didn't know if I could make it through another pre-Christmas like that. And yet, as things got easier after the 2014 holidays, I got complacent again and started feeling like, well, maybe just one more year. I love my coworkers, and I love knowing exactly what I'm doing and being confident in my job-specific skills, and if I left I'd have to be a beginner again, and what if I didn't like the people I worked with? And getting free books is pretty sweet. And the discount on other books and merch is pretty sweet. And being able to listen to whatever music I wanted at work was pretty sweet. And being able to go have lunch at the Wednesday Farmer's Market in the summer is pretty sweet....

Having a regular work schedule that I was used to, that often included 3 day weekends (extra time to write fanfiction!!), that was pretty sweet.

But I knew I didn't want to stay there my whole life. It was a dead-end job, great coworkers and opportunities to pet customers' dogs aside. It made me feel trapped.

After a particularly frustrating staff meeting, in which everyone was discussing the new janitorial duties we've had to pitch in on, I was super angry at the unfairness of all the great people I work with having to subsist on minimum wage (I honestly don't know how they make it, they must all have multiple roommates to split rent with and/or a partner who works or parents who have money). But I didn't know if it was actually possible for the owners to pay us more, even though they are opening a new location soon, which seemed to indicate no lack of funds. I just kept hearing "the book business is hard everywhere" and "we would if we could". The day of the SCOTUS Marriage Equality ruling, one of my managers was asking me if I was excited and was puzzled enough by my distracted response that she pulled me aside later and asked me to talk. I ended up sobbing all over the place and apologizing for my anger because I honestly felt like a bad person since everyone else on staff is pretty cool with giving 110% to keep the store running. They ended up telling me they had already decided to give me a small raise. I told them thank you... but that I was still seriously looking for a new job where I would be happier and healthier (as in, able to maybe save up to get dental work done and not be living paycheck to paycheck).

I'm still kind of amazed at myself. But I'm amazed at myself for a lot of choices I've made over the last five years, to leave situations that are no longer serving me adequately. It always takes me forever. It took me so many years to do that with the LDS church. Because I always want to change myself first, to fit. If I just needed less. If I just worked harder. If I was just not who I am. So many other people can do it, why can't I? Am I being selfish? Could I really be happier anywhere else? These are the kinds of thoughts that keep me where I am even when I'm extremely unhappy. 

I got an interview with a childcare center downtown. I was terrified. The last time I interviewed at a day care, it left a sour taste in my mouth because the interviewer seemed surprised at my lack of formal childcare experience, even though I had never claimed any on my resume. He also emphasized that my duties would be more along the lines of crowd control and there wouldn't be much opportunity to bond with the kids. I hoped this place would be different. It seemed different from the website. There was an emphasis on play-based learning and the principles of discipline focused on teaching children natural consequences for their behavior. 

Luckily I have wise and encouraging friends. One of them said I should focus on why I wanted the job, what I liked about the center, and how it was relevant to my degree and my interests in diversity. That was the perfect advice. The interview was the most positive interview experience I've probably ever had. It was more of a conversation about principles and how to put ideals into practice in teaching kids boundaries so that they can feel secure in their learning environment and not be caught up in power struggles. 

I sent a thank-you card to the director two days later at the suggestion of my brother, because I really did appreciate that experience, regardless of whether they choose to hire me or not. It made me feel, for the first time in a long time, like my education was valuable and could make a difference in someone's life. They said raises were even possible "especially with your degree". Like my degree actually matters. Whoa.

And early this week, I was hired!

Yesterday I informed my managers. They were supportive. 

I sat at my work computer afterward, conscious of the way my fingers know exactly where to go on the keyboard to navigate Ibid, and realized that very soon it won't matter that I have all the merchandise categories memorized and know without looking at the chart or the calculator that 9 = 21.99, 6 = 14.50, 2 = 4.99. People won't be calling on me at the registers to find the code for items whose labels have fallen off--I won't have that rush of satisfaction when it takes me less than 5 seconds to track it down. 

I'll be a beginner again, in a situation with kids, who are notorious for making every day unpredictable. But that's okay. Maybe I won't be the greatest receiver in the building anymore. But maybe I'll be the best person to draw pictures with, or maybe I'll be there to help teach a toddler some of their first words, or witness their first sentences. Maybe I'll be able to encourage the interests of budding preschool-aged scientists or artists. I think that would be pretty amazing.

And the thing is, I can already feel myself thinking about the future again, and things beyond this job feel possible again. Options are coming back into my mental landscape and it's exciting. I'm still dreaming of becoming some sort of religious educator or minister some day, probably in the Unitarian Universalist church. But if not that, then I think whatever calls to me later down the road will be relevant to what I do in this next job: hands on, face to face, real lives being touched somehow. That feels good to think about.

So, as I learned in this past week's sermon on change, every goodbye is also a hello.

Goodbye to all my wonderful coworkers (although I will visit on the weekends sometimes!)

to styrofoam and glitter (good riddance)

to free ARCs and discounted books and holiday-season stress

to smelly manufacturing chemicals

to the dungeon, the cardboard maze

maybe to the muscles I get from hauling boxes up the stairs (although I will be holding kids so maybe not)

to petting dogs every day I'm on the sales floor

to walking to Fairhaven five days a week

to Wednesday markets

to hours of Pandora

to three day weekends

to giving fudge samples and bagging candy for middle schoolers on early release days

to my Monday food bank buddies (I'm genuinely really sad about this)

to many things I haven't even thought of yet.

Hello to new opportunities

to a much less profit-drive environment

to play and learning and messes

to new life lessons and new expectations

to having weekends free

to being able to go to the Saturday farmer's market

to new difficulties I've only half-anticipated

to being a beginner again

to a quieter holiday season 

to better pay

to a new end to the phrase "I'm a...." and "I work...."

to new rules

to .... we just don't know it all

and that's okay. 

For once, I feel ready for a change. I'm still nervous (what if it's not all I think it will be? What if I'm making a terrible mistake?) but I think slowly I'm learning to roll with it. And that's a pretty cool accomplishment for me, all on its own.