Damn Swede

One of the things my dad has constantly reminded me of at various points throughout my life is the purpose of what I am doing. During high school I was preparing for college. Virtually every phone call in college ended with, “Just remember, you are there to study.” And in the real world? The reminder that I live my life for God and not for man, which includes my life at work.

I have been thinking a lot about this lately, as the morale at my company is very low. New policies that are poorly explained and seemingly pointless are being put into place. Company procedures are given greater priority than client needs. Promises of raises by October 1st went unkept and employees are referred to as percentages of capacity instead of people. Percentage that are determined without the input of the employees. (My collegue was shocked to learn accidentally that she was on the chopping block because she was only a registered 52% capacity. One of her clients was unaccounted for and she corrected the mistake, bringing her to an actual 102% capacity. There was not an intent to speak with her directly; instead she would have been fired or given additional responsibilities.)

My own frustration results from personal broken promises including a promotion due in December and hiring an Assistant AE around the same time. The thing of it is, I really like the people I work with. I find the work I do interesting enough to keep my attention and make me feel like I am learning and growing. I just wish it was easier to work there!

As he left, my collegue made the statement I used as the title of this entry. The group of us standing around affirmed the statement and scattered; gathering all our belongings and shutting down our computers. When ‘The Man’ gets you down, it is really hard to remember you aren’t working for him. The sleepless nights (last night included), the anxiety attacks, the late nights at the office, the random crying. For what?

I am positive I rolled my eyes each time my dad reminded me of my purpose. “Yes, Dad, I know!” But the simple fact is there is freedom in knowing there is more to your life than working for the man. Man will disappoint and it is easy to become frustrated or give up as a result. But God takes care of the faithful, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Maybe your patience or character or faith is strengthened in the end.

During this trial, I find myself retreating to my faith. I can’t say the Jesus Prayer enough during the day and I wear my cross more often that ever before. I bought the ring (referenced in a previous post) to wear daily and find myself spinning it during the day, thinking about what it says. “Lord Protect and Save Me.” Yes, please.

My friends Greg and Marian sometimes watch their grandchildren overnight; Ashley who is five and Jimmy who is eight months.  On these weekends, they rush into church (usually a few minutes late) with all the gear children seem to require nowadays, looking for an open spot to set up camp.

During the first visit, Mirian introduced me to Ashley as her friend.  “Can you say hi to Carrie?” she asked.  Ashley locked eyes with me.  “I am watching you.” she said, complete with two fingered hand gesture first pointed at her eyes and then mine.

This Sunday was another visit.  Greg and Mirian made it just in time for the Homily because Baby Jimmy decided it was time to eat right when they were getting ready to leave; despite their many efforts to convince him to eat earlier.  They set up camp in the back by the choir, so Mirian could still give stern looks about appropriate church behavior from the music stand.  During the announcements, Greg admitted that Baby Jimmy, who had fallen asleep close to a half hour earlier, was getting too heavy for him.  “Well, then just give him to Carrie,” Mirian instructed and I took the sleeping baby into my arms and up to venerate the cross.  Walking back to the pews, I sat to gather up my belongings before heading to coffee hour.  It was as this moment that Ashley realized I was holding her younger brother.  Marching up to me, she again locked my eyes.  “That is OUR baby!” she exclaimed.  Laughing, I explained that her grandpa’s arms were tired and I was just helping out.  “But still, THAT IS OUR BABY!” she countered, even more insistant this time.  ” I am not going to steal him,” I reply, “I am just holding him for now.”  With this explanation, she was satisfied.

I heard this morning on 780 AM that, according to a clinical research study, today is the most depressing day of the year.  Besides being winter and usually dreary outside, it is also the time of January where holiday credit card bills have arrived in mailboxes and the sinking realization that holiday resolutions will be, well, unresolved.

I have my own theory on why today was so blah.  It involves hearing all the reasons you should be depressed while getting ready for work.  Might as well have added, “And nobody likes you either!” for good measure.

I feel sorry for anyone who tried to talk to me this morning.  I woke up very early this morning concerned about a major work project and was unable to fall back asleep.  I showed up to work in a daze, depite walking a block out of my way to stop at Starbucks.  While at Starbucks, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I hate this new Starbucks.  I preferred the old Starbucks, where they know my drink and make friendly conversation but the stupid parking lot had to close. More of the same once I got to work . . . meetings starting late, constant interruptions and the inability to get a final answer.

In the afternoon I checked my mail.  And this is what I found:

It is one of those ebay finds that I couldn’t pass up.  It is an Orthodox prayer ring handcrafted in a Russian monestary.  Each letter is carved out individually to say in Russian, “Lord Protect & Save Me.”  It is beautiful and I love it.  It certainly cheered me up!

My neighbor Sinthia takes care of me.  She feeds me, monitors the times I come and go and calls me if she hasn’t seen or heard from me in more than two days.  It is a wonder, at 31 years old, how I took care of myself before I met her.

I think these actions, in themselves, are silly.  After all, I am a ‘grown-ass woman’ who has been living on my own for ten years.  On the evenings I want to be left alone after a long day of work, I tersely answer the phone, “Yes, Sinthia?”  “How are you,” she’ll ask, explaining that she didn’t see my car parked on the street the night before.

As much as I roll my eyes while explain I am fine, she is relentless . . . and I love that about her.  I may not need to be taken care of, but I do appreciate being cared for.  It is reassuring to know she is watching me so closely that she will know if something is wrong.  She can detect the slightest nuance in my voice, expertly drawing out of me the root of my depression or frustration.  “You know what?  You don’t need that bullshit.  Fuck them!” she’ll say and despite the colorful choice of words, I always feel encouraged.

This morning I renounced Satan and united myself to Christ as part of my role as godmother during an Orthodox Baptism service.  Listening to the litanies, I held Baby Jane in my arms tightly; carefully watching Father Bill for any direction.  The significance of this service made me very nervous.  The spiritual growth and salvation of Jane is now my responsibility, shared with her parents.  Of course Father John counseled, “How much can you do really, except lead by example?”  But that alone is overwhelming.  As Jane cooed and grabbed at Father Bill’s vestments during the anointment, I thought about the rest of my life.  And the rest of Jane’s life.  And that during one hour on a snowy Sunday morning our lives were intertwined forever.

On the drive home from the baptism, Sinthia called to tell me that she moved out of her condo today.  She and Adam purchased a single-family home on the South Side and we knew this day was coming.  We both avoided discussing it, hoping that ignoring it will this time actually make it go away.  As our conversation drew to an end, she told me to drive safe and call her when I got home.  I guess things may not be as different as I thought.

I want Jane to know how much I care for her.  And I am not as good as Sinthia is about making my feelings obvious.

This is a public service announcement.

It has come to my attention that people are worried about me because of the overcast nature of my blog entries. Yes, I am horrible with death. Yes, my job sucks. But I am okay.

See, I remembered something my ex-boyfriend once told me. “You are in control of your career. If you are unhappy; do something about it. If you don’t, it is your own fault.” Okay, that may or may not have been paraphrased, but the point is valid. I can sit around, write tearful blog entry after blog entry and feel sorry for myself because ‘they don’t respect me at work’ or ‘they don’t follow through on their promises’. But the fact of the matter is that I am allowing that to happen. So, dear readers, I am taking control of my life. I will be a victim no longer.

I am okay. And so are you.