Jack of all trades, master of none

For as long as I can remember, I have felt sad at the thought that I have no demonstrable talent.

I find that I can do many things, but there is no one thing that I can do well.

I like music but I have no musical skills, vocally or otherwise. I took a couple guitar lessons, I tried to teach myself to play the piano. But I just stopped. I wanted to know how to play more than I wanted to learn how to play.

I love art and I am artistically inclined. Ever since I was little I've had an artistic eye and I've truly enjoyed assorted art forms-- drawing, painting, photography. And I was good at it. My mother said I should drawing lessons. My response was, "But I already know how to draw." I was too young to understand that I could learn and grow and improve, and she didn't take the time to explain that to me. In high school I got really involved with photography. I considered pursuing photography as my focus in college. But I didn't. The school I went to didn't even have photography classes but a 3 week interim course similar to the basic work I'd done in high school.

I am deeply envious of those who can dance but I am always shy to dance myself. I am told I was given the option to take dance lessons, which I really don't believe it true because I can't remember a time that I didn't yearn to be able to dance and so I can't imagine that I would have turned down that offer.

I am athletic and played all kinds of sports. Swimming, gymnastics, soccer, softball, volleyball, track, cross country, crew... I was good at them at all, but I never carried through any of them to become great.

As I think about all these things it strikes me that I could have developed many of these talents, but I was always afraid. I was afraid to make a public stance that I was interested in something, because I was scared of what others would think. I was scared to make a run at so many dreams because I was scared that I wouldn't succeed, that I wouldn't be good enough. I wanted things to be easy, to just come to me. I thought that if I was really good at something, that if I had a talent, that it would just exist without effort.

For so long I have been subject to my ego at the expense of my spirit...'bout time I make a change, no?

The mania of deep seeded issues...

Leave it to me to put a damper on special occasion...

After months of anticipation,this weekend one of my best friends got married. It was exciting to finally check into a hotel, get ready and head over for the ceremony. I was thrilled that my fella was invited to come along. We live together and have been a couple for the better part of the year, but we had yet to have occasion to sport our finest duds or dance with one another. Especially since we met in the midst of a long distance hike where physical appearance hardly made the list of priorities, and generally speaking I am a jeans/t-shirt kind of girl, I thoroughly enjoyed an opportunity to get dressed up and have my fella all spruced up as well. Despite it being mid October and a foreboding forecast or 50 degree temps and relentless rain, the ceremony was outdoors and the weather held. Chilly at first, once the ceremony began I found I was rather comfortable with a jacket over my legs, arms intertwined with my fellas, and a hand in his jacket pocket.

When the ceremony was over we all flooded in for the celebration to begin. Drinks, dinner, tons of dancing...a truly good time. I adore my fella... not only was he incredibly attractive in his suit, but he is the best date I could ask for. He talked with my friends, danced up a storm, all the while beaming at me with loving and joyful stares. And I, too, was loving every moment... until the same old shit reared it's ugly head.

A combination of drinks, a couple really terrible pictures taken with the bride, and feeling self conscious about dancing sent me spirally down from the highest high to a low low. I went from having a blast to wanting to leave that moment. And so we did... Perhaps one day I will manage to sort through all these lingering issues...or maybe I will learn to have one less glass of wine.

What Am I?

I have often found it curious that more often than not, when a person is asked what they do for a living they respond by saying, "I am a..." You fill in the blank--I am a doctor, I am a lawyer, I am an accountant, whatever the case may be.

Having left my teaching job, I am now in search of new work and I find myself pondering this phrasing again. The thing is...I don't know what I am. And maybe this is the root of why I feel so helpless and worthless in this job search. I am nothing. While others could say "I am a pilot" or "I am a beautician," I was never able to say "I am a teacher" without feeling like I was twisting the truth. It always felt more accurate for my response to be "I teach." You may think this is a word game, pure semantics. But I think it gets to the heart of my dilemma.

I haven't found what I truly want to do, a passion or a calling that speaks of who I am. Though I may end up back in a classroom, I don't think I really want to teach because I don't feel like I am a teacher. There are lots of jobs I could be doing, but they don't feel right because that's not what I am. Maybe I am expecting too much to find a job like that. I am more than content to work to live rather than to live to work. But after so many mornings of waking up, dreading the day before me, I don't think it's too much to want a job I enjoy. A job that is fulfilling and does not fill me with angst and negativity.

The trick is to be able to find it before I truly run out of money...and time is of the essence.

The box

What does one do when you come across a box of your significant others past relationships? An intriguing dilemma. I know at least two of my closest friends have been faced with comparable scenarios and both handled it by snooping 'til their eyes bled. Can you blame them? I dunno... It's entirely tempting to delve inside, maybe hoping to find something to make you feel really good about yourself and your relationship... or maybe hoping to find something to nit-pick about yourself and your relationship?

Despite being deliriously happy, and not seeming to have any preoccupations about the ins and outs of former loves, I challenge any woman to stare down a box teeming with pictures and memorablia of your fella's ex and walk away without a second thought or glance. This is the challenge I faced. Having come across a random box in the closet and innocently asking what was inside, my fella tells me it's full of things he "didn't know what to do with." You're kidding yourself if you think this doesn't pertain to you. Of course this box exists. Everyone has one. The pictures you don't want or need, but don't feel quite right throwing away. Those little keepsakes that aren't worth any money but are laden with sentimental value. In theory there are no longer ties to these items and they can now be discarded without regret...now. But at one time they were put on holding pattern in that box... a purgatory of sorts.

To look or not to look, that is the question... Ironically, I turned to the very two friends whose track records speak of what their choice of action would be. Perhaps these were the best people to discuss the matter with because they have the most practical insight. Both advised against my looking. Why open myself up to misgivings or insecurities that wouldn't otherwise present themselves? The comparisons... is she prettier than me? were they happier than we are?

Though I appreciate my friends' input, I knew that it wasn't actually a question of whether I should look. I wanted to look, period. And I mean--he knew I knew about the box, it was left in the office in plain sight. One may think that entitles me to look inside, right? I disagree. I decided that what was most important was that I asked him how he would feel about it, at the risk of upsetting him.

I could not have received a more perfect response. With poise and grace, love and trust, honesty and openness, he tells me, "You are welcome to know anything and everything that is or was a part of my life..."

I would love to say that like in some dramatized television show that that response set me free and enabled me to walk away from the box without looking inside. Wouldn't that be poetic?
Instead, I opened the box. I looked through the pictures, I read the notes, I looked at the keepsakes. I compared her physique to mine, I considered whether they had more fun than we do. To what end? I love my fella. I am so grateful that he is my fella. I hope I will never be the contents of a similar box in that same closet. All in all, I am fine with what is in that box. Afterall, I have one too.