strong personality
I spent the last four+ months looking for full-time work. During that process, I had a few interviews at a great organization. I really wanted the job. During my final interview with them, I turned toward one of the interviews while she was speaking and inadvertently glanced at her notepad. I managed to see only two words written at the bottom of her paper: “Strong personality”.
I ruminated on that for weeks. What did she mean by strong personality? Was it a bad thing? Did it mean I was talking too loud in the interview? Was I “coming on too strong?” What does “coming on too strong” even mean?
My family thought it was hilarious. My friends tried to convince me that interviewers “write neutral observations that they will discuss the pros and cons of later”.
I didn’t get the job.
When something you really wanted doesn’t come through in the end and you are left asking “Why did I even go through that? Why did I have to get my hopes up?”, the people around you will tell you that there was a reason for the experience, you just may not see it yet.
I spent a few weeks disappointed about that job. I threw myself a top notch pity party. Then I decided that the interviewer was right–I do have a strong personality–and I shouldn’t feel self-conscious about it. And maybe I went through three rounds of interviews just so I would read that interviewer’s note and have the eventual “when Stella got her groove back” moment. (I hate that I just said that. I’ve never even seen that movie.)
Here’s what all this self-realization has brought about: I have since stopped looking for full-time work and, instead, have moved in a really exciting life direction. A combination of stepping back and realizing who I am, what I’m good at, what I value and the kind of lifestyle I want to live in the future (and thus should start living NOW) has lead to working two part-time gigs–one I’ve been at for 2.5 years and one new one with tons of flexibility so that I can—wait for it—
really go for this photography thing.
Weddings, portraits, promo gigs. Bring it on.
I am definitely choosing the less stable route. Someone asked me recently, “What about a 401k?”. I fell prey to their trap for a second and felt a tinge of worry, then I remembered that I am a quarter of a century old. I haven’t even yet stepped completely into this life, it feels. Why would I start worrying about retiring from it?
So here I am. With my strong personality and my ideals and values and opportunity. I am a mix of excited and terrified, which is exactly how I felt when I moved to California in 2009. I think all the best life decisions start from a terrifying and exciting decision.
Did I tell you I have a pen pal? Last week I was doing some great verbal processing about all this to him: idealism vs. pragmatism, etc. etc., and, in response, he said a line that has really helped plant me in this decision: “Your conviction has created a neat story so far, so I see no need to lose trust in it.”
Awesome. Ok. Here we go.
lost traveler
left: dishes drying in the morning light // right: a los angeles hillside from the freeway
I’ve been flipping back through Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow, looking for some inspiration, maybe even answers, and finding damn good poetry instead:
By then I wasn’t just asking questions, I was being changed by them. I was being changed by my prayers, which dwindled down nearer and nearer to silence, which weren’t confrontations with God but with the difficulty–in my own mind, or in the human lot–of knowing what or how to pray. Lying awake at night, I would feel myself being changed–into what, I had no idea. It was worse than wondering if I had received the call. I wasn’t just a student or a going-to-be preacher anymore. I was a lost traveler wandering in the woods, needing to be on my way somewhere but not knowing where.
huntington dog beach
My dad’s been in town for work. It’s been great to spend time together, just the two of us. This weekend, we drove down to Huntington to the dog beach. My dad is my first family member to meet Camille and they’ve taken to each other quite well, considering all of her male-based fears. Maybe she can tell how much I love him.
SEEING vol 2
Shannon invited me to sit in on her current SEEING workshop this morning. (It’s hard to believe that it’s already been a year since I was a SEEING student.) We were talking about fear and art today when someone said, “If something scares the hell out of you, run toward it. That’s where greatness is.”
It’s exactly what I’ve been needing to hear.
good
It’s been a week of good morning light, good conversations with my dad who’s in town for work, good times of writing and reflection and a week of possibly the best cups of coffee I’ve made in a while.
Also good this week:
-Marcos Rivas‘ work. Another photographer described Marcos’ work as “sensitive”, which is oddly accurate.
-Olivia Rae’s everyday musings. She’s got a beautiful eye and a beautiful life.
-Ben Williams, brilliant portrait photographer and soon to be cross-country cyclist.
some days
Some days I wish I were living in a gutted old airstream trailer on the back of some friends’ property, off the grid and reading every poem Wendell’s ever written. Some days I wish I was living somewhere secluded, in the south, with lots of time to walk around and photograph things and raise chickens and make omelets with their eggs for breakfast. Some days I wish I lived by the ocean so I could be as close as possible to the place that makes me feel God is as close as possible. Some days I wish I were in the woods, with a camp stove and some playing cards, a scarf and some boots.
And some days, some days I’m happy to be right where I am, with the morning light streaming in through my bedroom windows and one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs on the record player.
one year
Remember this day? It’s officially been one year with this girl. Her companionship has been more than I could have asked for. Before I got her, the rescue organization described her as “special needs”. By that they meant timid, scared and completely skeptical of people. No one’s completely sure what happened to her in her last home. But now, after one year, I couldn’t be more proud of her for the progress she’s made.
She’s lived in three different places in her year with me. She’s learned to adapt to and live with a lot of different housemates. She put up with some really busy weeks during my graduate program. And no matter how long I’ve been gone, fifteen minutes or 9 days, she’s always ecstatic when I come home.
About six months ago she stopped trying to run off when the opportunity presented itself. I’ve taken that to mean she quite likes me and would like to stay a while, which is good because the feeling’s mutual.
food stuffs
My new favorite place to get my groceries is the Armenian market one block down from my new house. It’s super cheap and kind of an adventure every time I go in–I’m not sure what everything is or if they will have what I’m looking for. This week they had a crazy good deal on chicken legs and thighs. So I bought a package and called my mom for a lesson on making truly southern fried chicken.
“Frying chicken is one of those things that takes a lot practice before you do it right” my mom said as I stood there worrying if my oil was too hot or not hot enough. But I had to do it right. I only had one piece of chicken. And you know what? It turned out perfectly. When it was all fried up, I turned on the fire, grabbed a glass of a really cheap red and ate that chicken until the bones were clean.
I’ve been thinking about the south a lot lately. Maybe it’s because I watched the Help recently or because a friend of mine stumbled upon my favorite tea at a shop in the small town in Tennessee where I went to college and sent me a picture of it. Or because I’ve been listening to Ray Lamontagne on vinyl a lot lately and he’s got that line about cutting a man down in a Tennessee town. Or because I said “Worst comes to worst…” yesterday and a friend told me I’ve never sounded more southern. Or maybe it’s because the new house has a screen door and every time it slams shut behind someone it makes me think of being a kid in Alabama. Whatever it is, there’s something about the south that’s got it on my mind. I guess every place you’ve lived is part of your story and part of loving your self is loving every part of your story. And the truth is, I do love the south.
sometimes
I’ve been going through my iPhoto library, cleaning things out, making room. The library holds mostly iPhone pictures and pre-DSLR snapshots. In the process of going through them, I’ve stumbled upon some really terrible images, some really nostalgic images and then some, like the one above, that kind of make me breathless.
I took this in Santa Monica in early 2010, on my old iPhone (no filter), just after the sun went down. I don’t remember taking it. I love the way the horizon line blends with the colors and the hills fade softly into the ocean. And I love that the sand is completely black.
Sometimes great images are made by great cameras and purchased presets. Usually great images are made by great photographers. But sometimes, sometimes great images have nothing to do with the camera or the person behind it and are, instead, simply the result of the remarkable way the sun sinks behind the ocean.
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Also beautiful? This post by Laura Dart about a recent Kinfolk gathering.
slow mornings
Among my favorite things (the ocean, campfires, front porches, riding a bicycle at night) are slow mornings. I don’t wake up easily so when I get a few hours to do the whole coffee, breakfast, reading, dog walk, shower, internet ritual I’m a really happy camper. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of slow mornings lately. I pour some coffee, tie my curtains back and just take it so freaking slow.
