"The past is prologue"

Part I: "The past is prologue"
- Senator Joe Biden at the vice presidential debate, 2008.

I realize there are about a million things to relate about my summer in Portland. I could write about the 9-5 job or the garden Jenn and I grew, the house projects we worked on which involved mouse poo in the hair and sunglasses worn at night. I could describe my many weekends traveling, longing for open space after a stifling week or two in the city. I could go on for days about how I immersed myself in national politics, how I listened intently to every word of the DNC and the RNC, and watched Joe Biden's eyes swell with compassion as he spoke of his family. I would skip this all completely, but for the power of one statement made by Senator Biden himself: "The past is prologue". So I'll summarize the BIG lessons.

Many things in my life lead up to the career path I was on in Portland. I was there for an internship with the hopes of being offered a full-time permanent position as a career woman in a "real" job. This isn't something I ever aspired to, except that it seemed to be one way to do what I had set out to do: work with people and landscapes and figure out how to make them better places for both.

I'm not one to settle, however, and I have many stipulations on any job I might take or even apply for. It has to be a firm, company, organization or institution I believe in. It has to be for a good, ethical and meaningful purpose. The position must facilitate and support continuing education, be stimulating and inspiring. It should be a position where hours or shifts are flexible to the extent that 1-2 week vacations are not only allowed but also encouraged for the sake of sanity and good stories. Coworkers must be superheroes, intelligent, fun and adventurous. Last and very least, it should be able to pay the bills.

I was in Portland for all these reasons. I believed in the firm I was working for, I believed that their mission was a great one. The schedule was flexible to a point, and coworkers were interesting and inspiring, and it paid the bills. So what went wrong? It was a combination of the many changes the firm was going through and the trajectory I was headed in. I'll start with the firm.

1. When I arrived I had a desk with a computer in the hallway. We'll be moving to our new office in a week they said. We moved 4 months later.

2. Though the firm was composed of a bunch of superheroes and rock stars, no one seemed to like one another and backstabbing was the norm.

3. I had to sit on my butt all day long! And they expect my brain to work? (More on this later)

4. I was most certainly back burner due to the move and the associated permitting of the new building remodel, a merge with another firm and the global financial meltdown.

5. I was in Portland, a 12-hour drive from Andrew.

6. I was in Portland, and apparently i'm NOT a city girl.

What was going through my head?

NOTHING! That was the problem. The mind-numbing 8-5-work day in front of a computer was so all-encompassing that my brain essentially shut down, and my body followed. No matter how interesting the work was, the forced daily schedule of sitting was crushing my mind and my spirit and my body. I would find excuses to stand up while working at my computer. I would drink a gallon or two of water so I would get up every half hour to pee. I would find reasons to leave the building to feel the breeze on my face. It was oppressive. For the record, I don't shy away from hard work or long hours. I grew up on a farm. I worked my way through graduate school. I have two jobs.

But this system is sad. It is meant to dampen our souls, to ensure that the worker bee comes back to work day in and day out regardless of season or state of mind. Mortgages and credit are there to ensure that worker bees keep coming back. Wouldn't it be better if worker bees came back because work was fun or stimulating? Studies show that people are more productive if exercise is incorporated into the workday. Studies show that sitting on your butt all day numbs your brain. Studies show that exercise stimulates the mind and body by the release of endorphins. And my brain and body tell me I need more than 5 days a week in front of a computer to sustain me. No wonder almost everyone in America hates his or her job. No wonder America has an obesity epidemic. No wonder we all want to eat potato chips and watch TV. It is what our country has trained us to do.

And so, when, after 3 internship extensions and many "I'm not promising anything, but we would love to hire you" s they let me go, I felt a tremendous sense of relief. I was honorably discharged from the desk job trajectory. Financially, they just couldn't hire another designer.

I packed up my things in Portland and headed for home, my home with Andrew. On my way back I stayed with my parents. You look way to happy for just having lost your job my mom said. I felt the options were endless.

And so, blessed with a new perspective, I began work again at my old coffee shop. I couldn't help but smile. I got to move around, work hard, meet people, make a difference, and at no sacrifice to my brain or body. I might be making pennies for a paycheck, but my spirit was soaring...

PART II:

Until last week when bills were due. And I couldn't pay them. Yesterday I counted out the money in my coin jar, and collected my tips and tried to cash out any foreign currency I had. Then I deposited it in my account. Still negative, the receipt told me. Humpf! So I went home and started posting all my worthy belongings (aside from my bicycle and car) on craigslist. And I visited the pawn shop. And I tried to sell some clothes. But nothing much came of it. And though my parents and my Andrew have been helping me where they can, I'm going under. Along with the majority of the US population, apparently.

In the meantime, I've been studying for the GRE and trying to learn about REI and bikes and winter snow equipment and applying for school again. I start training to take on more responsibility at the coffee shop this week.

On top of all that? We don't have a place to live in 2 weeks unless we find a housemate, or find some hole in the ground we can afford. It has been a month in the works, and still no prospects. So Saturday we helped our ex-housemate move out. and yesterday we moved into his room, hoping beyond hope that we can find someone to share the rent.

So, though I feel I've made the right decisions for me, I can't support myself in those decisions quite yet. A bit irresponsible, I must admit, but it has saved my soul.