I actually picked up the bill and said, “yay! Money!” I then promptly put in back in the change dish and closed the lid. Maybe I’ll need it later or maybe I’ll see it again some day in the future when I could use a found-money-pick-me-up.
Because it will pick me up. That’s just the way finding something that was yours all along works. You never knew you lost it, but you sure are glad you found it.
Today at work, we had a little “History of HayCarumba” informative meeting. It came complete with a marketing video, cute anecdotes and a display of all of their early products. The CEO, who was presenting this all to us, laughed as he said that now that our products are in 100+ countries, it’s funny to think that they’d almost quit seven years ago. His business partner had suggested doing something in medical billing instead.
Everyone, of course, laughed at his joke. He laughs his way to the bank every day.
And I started to think a lot about history. If I had to come up with a list of themes for this blog, “my problem dealing with history” would definitely be one of them.
I’m not sure what it is about the past that makes me so uncomfortable, but there it is. I have trouble consolidating the fact that what I’ve done and what I’m doing right now could possibly come together in any way to bring me to a place where I can calmly say, “to think, I almost didn’t make it.”
Maybe on my list of blog themes, I’d also add, “time is a bitch and she’s mean to everyone.” Because the truth is that dealing with the past and present wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t feel like I was hurtling into the future. I’m not sure where this giant ticking clock that hangs over my life suddenly came from, but it's there, hands ticking like a giant finger constantly wagging at me, saying “no, no, no, no.”
It’s so difficult to admit things like, “I don’t know what I’m doing a lot,” because the moment it leaves my mouth (or fingers) it feels like an appeal for reassurance. I assure you, it is not. All of my combined readers could leave me a nice, loving, “it’ll all be okay” comment, and right after I’m done reading (and appreciating) them all, I’ll be no closer to knowing what I’m doing.
A third theme might be, “usually, though, I don’t think about important things.” Usually, I ignore the ticking clock and instead enjoy things like found money in my car and stuffing chocolate in my mouth.
Maybe this is the hated, trite and absolutely ridiculous quarter-life crisis. Maybe it’s nothing more than realizing that history is slipping away, whether that’s a good or bad thing, and the future refuses to remain as such. The future is walking towards you, arms raised over its head asking, “you wanna go?” and you can’t figure out what you did to piss it off or why exactly it’s so intimidating.
It took sitting in a meeting about the success of others, about the brink of failure and the pull back from the ledge, to admit to myself that I’m not quite as lost as I might let on. I have more than a vague idea of what I want, and where I’m headed, and I think that’s even scarier than not knowing at all. That means that every wrong step counts more, somehow, because there is an end goal and I’m walking away from it.
A couple of months ago, when I went to visit family in Tampa, I was having a conversation with my cousin about her job. I asked her about what she planned on doing about beauty school, and she waved me off. “I can’t afford to dream,” she said. “I have to pay the bills.”
The next theme of my blog, then, is how amazing it is to still find dreaming affordable. I’m not really sure that’s an actual theme around here, but I’d like it to be.
This is the point where I look the future in the eye and realize it scares the crap out of me because it’s a big thing. It’s a big dream I have. Sometimes, thinking about my dreams feels childish, as if my 25-year-old dreams are little better than “astronaut,” “rock star,” and “the Little Mermaid.”
There is no conclusion here. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t very funny. I’m also sure that when I started writing this post, I just wanted to tell you about my $5.
Sometimes it’s just nice to write these types of things down, though, and not take it back. It takes naming a thing, whether it’s fear or an oft mentioned crisis, to make it seem just a little sillier in retrospect.
Ink, or black and white on a page, have a way of robbing power from the otherwise seemingly unmanageable.
And so, maybe my final theme would just be, “sometimes you need to talk about it.”
I like all of your faces.