I enjoy uploading pictures to Flickr. It's a wonderful place. Mmmm.... lots of good new music lately. Rocky Votolato — Makers. Winterpills — Winterpills. Rosanne Cash — Interiors. Also, I've been really enjoying Pandora lately — you will want to check out this fabulous free "online jukebox" site. And I also love the gorgeous soundtrack to last year's lush film 2046. I couldn't find it available for purchase online, so I broke down and bought the import CD. (Worth every nickel.) When's the last time your heart jumped up and down and demanded your full attention? I don't think I'm going to die tonight, but it's awfully strange to have such a vital organ make so much noise. — January 27, 2005 The habit of giving only enhances the desire to give. — Walt Whitman I believe you are your work. Don't trade the stuff of your life, time, for nothing more than dollars. That's a rotten bargain. —Rita Mae Brown "The Art of Disappearing" by Naomi Shihab Nye I can be reached at romanlily ~at~gmail.com. Or you can join the notify list here.	February 18, 2006 Dark passages New scene: I'm nodding along with the music. The movie's not that great, and the butter on the popcorn tastes like clarified petroleum. But it's a comfortable seat in the middle of the theatre. We have reached an agreement: The Firm drops money into my bank account every week via direct deposit. In return, I don't ask existential questions that they can't answer. Atlanta, coming in westbound on the train. I have discovered an unlikely ally in my co-worker Chris. We started this job together at the Very Large Multinational Corporation as strangers, but are becoming friends. I am getting to understand him better as the layers peel away slowly. He is in his mid-40s, worked for a while as an actor in LA. He lives in a neighborhood that we both regard as sketchy. He has an enormous, t-shaped scar running from his jaw down his throat. (I don't know what the story is with that yet.) We work together in a small, enclosed office. It could be terrible, but it's working out. The greatest pleasures of this job have nothing to do with the work. (Could the same be said for any job?) Last week Rich dropped by our little office to say hello. Rich is an upper-level guy, a manager we had met on our first days at the Very Large Multinational Corporation. Chris and I greeted him warmly and shook his hand and offered him a chair. I expected Rich to make an announcement of some sort — surely if he's coming to visit, there's a reason, right? But Rich just looked around at our office for a few minutes, made a few unenthusiastic remarks about how we seem to be doing a good job, and left. Chris and I looked at each other suspiciously when he left. What was that about? Then we got back to work. A few seconds passed. I looked up. "Chris, did I call Rich 'Tony' when he was here?" Chris thought for a second. "I think you did, because I remember thinking, 'That was weird.'" "Why do you suppose I called him Tony? His name is Rich. Rich is very different from Tony." "I was going to ask that same question." We sat there for a few seconds, and then I started laughing, and he started laughing. We laughed uncontrollably. The fact of my calling a supervisor by the completely wrong name. The fact that the supervisor had absolutely nothing to say to either of us. The fact that we had absolutely nothing to say to him. The supreme awkwardness of the whole enterprise. Retelling the story, it doesn't seem that funny. Still, I don't think I've laughed that hard in years. Laughter to the point of pain over this incidental little office scene. Sometimes corny window blinds make for good photographic opportunities. I don't like to acknowledge how pessimistic I can be sometimes. I generally flatter myself by believing that I am gifted with a certain wonderful counter-cultural optimism. Not a pollyanna mentality, but a deep-seated wisdom, a belief that in the end, the world is better than it is bad. I do believe that. And at the same time, I want to believe that. Certain passages are blissfully obvious. I knew in 2003 that I had to step away from the form of Christianity in which I was raised. So I did. What is less clear now is how to continue a path of spiritual discovery, now that that structure is absent. I understood in 2004 that it was time for me to leave the company that I had worked for since 1997. So I did. Now I don't really know my alternatives or what I should do for work. Certain passages are obvious, and certain others are absolutely fraught with doubt and confusion. Lately I have questioned myself at every turn, berating myself for small choices, berating myself for not being stronger, more confident, more certain. I'm off my game, and it's a hard place to be. I feel mired in this sticky place where nothing is clear, and my own sense of self is up for grabs. My divorce has been complete for several months, but I still question my decisions, struggle with guilt and a sense of un-rootedness, and wonder which direction to go now that I am living alone. I'm making steady money at the Very Large Multinational Corporation, but I wonder endlessly if I am selling out by entertaining the idea of working there full-time. (Why does a predictable paycheck and health benefits equal "selling out"? What does that even mean?) It is so easy to judge myself harshly. This doesn't seem like a very wise or loving or optimistic thing to do. Writing it out here helps. Seeing the harsh judgments in stark black-and-white helps. It's amazing how hard we can be on ourselves, the things we say to ourselves that we would never say to a friend. I think often about how I might treat a friend who was having these concerns. If my friend was having these worries, I wouldn't ask her to figure everything out right now. I wouldn't berate her endlessly for not knowing what she wanted. I might ask her if she wanted something nice to eat. I might light a few candles in the apartment, put on her favorite, most comforting music. I might ask if she would like to take a nap, and then wake up and go for a little walk around the neighborhood after the rain stops. The camellia in Beths' front yard — a sure sign of spring.