It had to be (part one)

Doing the right thing feels good all the time right? Um kind of. As veiled as I would want to be, I feel that would confound the things I want to say.

I told my bosses two days ago that I want to step down from my job. By no means is this me "quitting the company" but I felt that given the sales goals we have for this year, we need someone to step into my job that has the clout / degree / experience / contacts and can forge that new path for us. It also means that I need my space for creative energy and things like homework, mulling over a poem for an hour in the evening and not feeling like it's wasted time when I should be working.

Today, it hit me. Crap. What did I do?! I just gave up a job I love and hate and resent and am thrilled by and am good at all in one fell swoop. I have enjoyed building the brand and shaping, refining it and creating new angles and products. It has been a blast. And all in the matter of a few short minutes, it has been undone, but it was coming to this. How could it not? As I mentioned to Jill, I am an artist, not a marketing maven in the way that they would need at this stage for the anticipated growth.

It took a lot of cajones to do this and I sought the reflection of several wise people in my life and God gave me peace about it along with visible representations of His provision. Faith is unseen, but I really like to see the chair that I am about to sit into, the road I am about to walk on.

Even for one like me who has a high need for change, it can be sad and a little scary. I get to now watch someone else take the company to new heights and it's not me. But as I was talking to my Dad, the engineer, tonight, it became clear that he and I share this in common: we both lay a firm foundation upon which other people will design and build. And at this point we watch and advise as needed, but our pens are now off the page. I love that both my bosses are adamant about me staying on, and looking for the right job I could step into. I feel vulnerable right now, which I'm choosing to funnel into my poetry, though my ego was massaged when Jill said the other day, "just think you didn't have any background training in marketing and look what you've accomplished- do you ever pinch yourself?" I am now.

Islands in the stream

has been in my head for the past few days, probably from taunting my friend Martha about her boyfriend's dad looking like Kenny Rogers. Day one of marathon show ended swimmingly; we gave ourselves a sales goal to hit during this show, so that will add to the fun and challenge of a 9-6 show for four days (read: on your feet standing and talking and smiling).

I was relieved an hour before the end of the show and sauntered from Times Square to Office Depot for supplies to make tomorrow an even more effective sales day. Then, on foot to sniff out a restaurant called "Better Burgers" known for its veggie and soy burgers and "air-baked" french fries. What delighted me about the meal were the designer ketchups: karma ketchup (with cumin and curry) and cajun ketchup with a kick. Yehuda amichai and I had a date tonight where he did all the talking because he knew I was tired and had nothing to say. Walking back to the hotel, snowflakes began to trickle from the sky extending into the smile broadening across my face.
The talk went well and now am dwelling in grey for a period, until things work themselves out. I continue walking in my orange coat thinking about how God might be that "tree over me, an old man asleep on a bench," worth more than sparrows.

wait for it

the talk is happening. tomorrow. my heart palpitates and rushes with the energy of rapids surfing downstream. yikes and yea all in one beat. what happens next is a mystery and i aim to savor its form, however it looks.

a stroll about town

ah manhattan, how do i love thee... my plane landed later than expected last night, but the drill never changes, at 2 a.m. i finally called it a night and the tossing and turning ensued. this morning, aside from setting up the booth and getting some work done, my main goal (in the back of my head that is) resides on 5th and e. 82nd. with only two hours to walk the met museum, i knew i must have my wits about me, no dawdling or distractions here.

the egyptian section appeared to have grown: among the sarcophogi, chunks of painted wall reliefs and stone statues, i walked into the dimly lit threshold of a recreation of a tomb for an "administrative helper" to one of the pharoah's and peered at canopic jars. i stood, reading about the last pharoahs and dynasty and was pleased to find the name of a pharoah shikrik (sp?) cited as such and referenced in the bible. i am always glad to find these little references to the reality of things laid out in the grand book.

on to the european paintings, i walked and then found myself waylaid, feet feverishly heading toward the "americans in paris" exhibit. there was a quote on the wall by an american painter commenting that upon leaving the louvre, she had to run home, so many were the ideas in her head to paint. and i understand this completely, the more read of my poetic books- forms and the like, the more ideas i have and forms with which i want to play. john singer sargent's work illuminated from the walls. childe hassam's work (who i'd never heard of before) compelled me. walking the rooms made me want to cozy up to a nice little cafe au lait on a corner, idling the time creatively, actively watching the people go by. so i walked. about 30 or so blocks in the brisk weather, a rosy hue scenting my cheeks. today it felt good to be alive.

day three: mfa

we are in day three of the mfa program.* upon strolling the campus the first day we happened upon two gravestones at the top of a rambling hill, not something expected in the middle of a college campus. when we drew closer to them, we discovered they were the gravestones of d.l. moody and his wife. in fact, there is a house with a bronzed placard hung on it out in front of the house.

i am enjoying my time here and all the quirky feelings that seem to be vying inside me for top dog positioning. suffice it to say, poets are people with a keen sensitivity to the world around them and it's an interesting dynamic to have a bunch of us together...so off i go to my first workshop, which means we have each read the poems of the others in our group and will be giving constructive criticism so as to make the poems better. but the thing is that sometimes a person can think they're open to criticism, only to find, in the face of it that the intended words to be slashed take on the quality of baby chicks and the poet steps into the role of mama hen. i'm hoping no clucking comes from my mouth in volatile tones... let the slashing begin.















(*all future blogs on my mfa experience will be posted on my wordpress blog, but at the moment am having difficulties accessing it.)