The dream was an odd amalgam of high school and work. Now that I've written it down, it seems obvious that it's about the toxic environment at work. It doesn't take much insight to realize that one of the reasons I'm sensitive to criticism and back-biting is my experience with the public school system and the mean-spirited nature of adolescence. After high school, I learned that I was worthwhile and talented and accomplished, but that self-knowledge remains a facade, easily breached with the right (or wrong) concatenation of events. All the subsequent learning and self-confidence can crumble, and my high school default mechanisms return. I don't confront, I try to hide my hurt, I absorb and accept and amplify the negative assessment, and I move on, curled tightly around the fragile cracked core of my being.
My current task is to repair that core. I get tired of the job, though. I want to plaster it over and forget about it. I want that hurt teenager to stop whining and influencing me. I'm 53 years old fergawdsake, I have a responsible job, I have grown up things to do. Enough with the adolescent angst.
Work has actually reached a detente. I start my day with a 2-minute Power Stance, which actually seems to have an effect on my day. My bete noir has eased off the backbiting and snippy repartee, and my bosses are backing me on next steps. But personally? That's another matter. I find myself addicted to the internet, obsessively checking my accounts, living from text to text and post to post, sharing the minutia of my life, trying to connect with someone, anyone, distracting myself from doing what I need to do. I reach out for contact and feel rejected and hurt when people have other commitments. I doubt the friendships, and I don't want to be alone.
Yesterday I colored Easter eggs by myself. I've happily done that in the past, but usually I connect with a friend or three and make a party of it. I remember coloring eggs with my cousin: he is so creative. His eggs were rich with color and design. I remember discovering, via my aunt, how amazingly deep the colors are when you use brown eggs. I remember borrowing friends' kids, and the joy of helping them discover their own styles. The great thing about crafting with another person is the variety that results. Everyone has a different mode of expression, it's very personal. You can tell without being told who did what work. (Once, when I was living with my cousin and T and S, I had my first pumpkin carving party. R joined T and S and me. We lighted the jack-o-lanterns and lined them up on the living room floor, and when my cousin came home we made him guess who had carved which pumpkin. He got them all right.)
But the real reason to craft with another person is to feel that connection. Some people need solitude to produce anything. I used to be that way, and in many of my previous posts you'll find me complaining that D is distracting me from doing meaningful, creative, or joyful work. Now it appears that I was blaming him unfairly. I have lost my ability to be alone, to find joy in the creative process. I need someone to be with me, to praise the end result, to share in the process and product.
Without that connection, all I can seem to do is post pictures to the internet, and whine in this blog. I am so looking forward to getting past this stage. But, how do I do that? I can't build a framework when the core is weak. Do I really have to tear down the facade and fix the foundation?
I think I need a new metaphor. Meanwhile....here are pictures of my Easter eggs. The proper response is "ooh!" And to post your own pix back.
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| Organic eggs will Produce richer colors, and Tastier omelettes. |
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