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Saturday, February 26, 2011

Owning My Labels

This manifesto of sorts, began as a tweaked Facebook status update re-post (02/17/2011). Due to field input limitations, it then became this note. Thanks again Dawn K., for the inspiration.

I have curves; I'm fat. On the rare occasions I do wear makeup, I might be considered fake. If I decide to get dressed up for no real reason, my motives are scrutinized. When I honestly express what's on my mind while dispensing with all the political correctness bullshit, I'm a bitch. When I cry sometimes, I'm perceived as a drama queen. I have guy friends, so that must mean I'm a slut. I stand up for myself out of self-respect, therefore I'm deemed mouthy. Seems like nobody can do anything any more without being labeled. This realistic, self actualized woman has minimized the effectiveness of what you assume is your ammunition. If I missed any other choice labels, here's your chance to take your best shot. You're encouraged first, to ask yourself if you think I really give a shit. Re-posting isn't necessary, but it's an interesting barometer of like-mindedness.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Herding Cats

Do you ever find that your interests and priorities are so scattered at times, that trying to carry out just a fraction of them seems like an exercise in futility? Organization and logical progression be damned; this is life on life's terms. Or rather, this has been my life on its own terms this winter, and it's become tiresome.

There's plenty of time management formulas which, when followed rigorously, purport the ability to turn even the most haphazard lifestyles into working models of personal efficiency. Really? On what planet? And how many random variables are taken into consideration in any given equation? Skeptical, me? You betcha.

A more sensible approach to goal setting that's frequently suggested to recovery newcomers is to compose a list of everything that person needs to accomplish. Then the list gets torn in half. This strategy aims to reduce the addict's natural propensity towards undertaking extreme all-or-nothing challenges. Sure, this initially sounds like promotion of mediocrity, but this isn't necessarily so.

In my pre-recovery life I was an administrative assistant for an OEM printing industry parts production facility. Even though the corporation itself was small, the responsibilities and skills required to ensure smooth operation were not. This fueled my perfectionist tendencies into the stratosphere for several years. When my disease finally rendered me unable to perform my job in a satisfactory manner, it was a severe blow to my ego. Addiction had reduced me from being The Hustle, to becoming The Hustled.

More about that another time, perhaps. Suffice it to say that the transition demanded learning certain truths regarding surrender, humility, and other things. My previous vocation didn't define me, but it played an integral role in who I was to become.

Back in 1995, a smart ol' coot in the rooms of the Capitol Beltway area, used to lay upon us all manner of knowledge. One of these gems from Tommy D. was that those of us who've been given this gift of recovery will often find ourselves having both a vocation and an avocation. As he explained it, one's vocation is what pays the bills, and one's avocation is the job that pays the soul. Over the course of many years, the lines between what I consider to be my vocation and avocation continue to be inextricably knit together, and I love it. So, what does any of this have to do with herding cats? /me snickers...

33 hours later...

Yesterday, having reached our limits of being home-bound by recent nasty weather, this family's HCIC (a.k.a Head Cats In Charge) decided that an outing was way overdue. Much to our relief and delight, travel to the far away land of West Plains was safe, pleasant, and relatively uneventful. Operative phrase: relatively uneventful. Of course challenges popped up before even leaving the house...

While walking to the car the youngest kitten falls into a patch of loose soil, moistened by the still melting snow. Yuck! Doggone it, her cute new outfit was fresh from the dryer less than an hour ago. No worries, we're going to the park first anyway, and we can pick her up another outfit before going to supper.

At the halfway point of Koshkonong ("Kosh" to us locals) Tween Kitten states that he's so hungry he's going to eat his brand new issue of Highlights. Naturally, Teen Kitten quickly falls into lock-step, and the two begin chanting for food. If Toddler Kitten hadn't been snoring, she too would've joined the conspiracy. We pull off in search of elusive, tasty, dairy-free units of sustenance. Finding safe food on-the-go for someone with severe dietary allergies, can be harder than one might assume. Also, it's downright scary when those whose vocation involves preparing food for others have zero clue what the ingredients are in those foods.

This illustrates a point that the concept of herding cats can represent both physical entities (people) and situations. Evolve, adapt, or die, kids. The world doesn't go on hold to accommodate a select few, no matter how valid the need. Choose the cats to be herded carefully, and be ready when necessary to spent time on unforeseen complications. Roughly an hour was lost as three fresh hamburgers were cooked, then consumed by the kittens.

A few hours later we managed to make it to a long overdue meeting. I was asked to read the Just For Today meditation. That's when it hit me, busy Mom Cat who's usually got more cats to herd than opportunities to enjoy a saucerful of milk sans interruption, that the trappings of life can become stressful as hell when I forget to simply live in the moment. ♥ =)