I had an interview with a temp agency yesterday.  So far, it’s the most promising thing I’ve had in the last 12 days or so.  Still, as I did the testing and the forms and whatever else I was supposed to do to register to do temp work, I had a growing sense of despair. 

As I left I couldn’t make myself go home, instead I started crying and driving and a quarter of a tank later I ended up in St. Johns to look at the bridge.  God, I love that bridge.  The green spires and the elegant arch that drops you right into Forest Park.  As I sat there dressed in my interview outfit, serviceable gray skirt and modest black sweater, I realized that even as I look for temp work for the office setting I’m still rebelling a little – as I glanced at my outrageously red Mary Jane shoes, which sooooo didn’t go with the plain outfit I was wearing.  I just couldn’t make myself go to another heartless interview wearing boring black shoes, a boring black outfit and apply for a job that, at the level of my heart, just really isn’t there.  So now what?

I drove over the bridge a few times listening to Dido and decided to take the night and have a pity party and just feel what I need to feel.  So I rented a few funny movies, got a pint of non-dairy ice cream with peanut butter swirls and went home to think.

When I got there, St. Mary took a look at my swollen eyes and said, “So, the interview didn’t go well?”

“Actually, it went fine.” I said.  “I’m just feeling sorry for myself today.”

I spilled it.  Feeling discouraged that I hadn’t found work yet.  Feeling like a failure for needing to resort to office work again.  Feeling like I wasn’t living up to my own standard of adventure.  Feeling isolated in my own world and wanting to be a part of something that’s shared.

When I finished my pity-party rant she calmly looked at me and said, “Are you giving yourself any credit for living the dream?”

“What dream?” I asked confused.

“The dream where I’m sitting at my laptop working and the UPS guy shows up with a copy of your book and you break out into hysterical giggles and run around the house like a maniac. That dream. You’re living your dream. Right?”

DOH!

She was right.  Absolutely right. Oh. My. God.

I hadn’t thought of it, and I felt like a total ASS.  I’d been bitching about how desperate I’ve felt lately, and the truth of it is… I’m right where I’ve always wanted to be.  The thing is, because I imagined my success differently – for example – getting paid to do this, and not living in a basement, and not stressing about finding a job to pay bills and so on – I didn’t realize I actually already had what I wished for, just not necessarily in the package I thought it would come in. I’m unemployed so I have plenty of time to write and pursue acting.  Sure, living off credit cards is a bad idea, but that’s fixable.  The major point is – I’m okay – not just okay, but better off than  I’ve ever been in all four of my bodies and closer to my dreams than I have ever been before – and I should be celebrating that.  Celebrating and planning on a new adventure, new horizon, a new set of goals to reach.

As St. Mary plainly put it, “It never looks like you reach the destination because you’re always looking for a new destination – but that’s all part of the journey. Right?”

As I snuggled into bed with ice cream and a movie, I also realized that I’d fallen back into Plan B mode.  Fear over material world problems put me at a set point that doesn’t fit with Plan A.  So, it’s time to get back to Plan A, and as long as I’m doing temp work to pay the bills while I keep Plan A in mind – it’s just another part of the journey, and that – I can deal with.  Pity party over.  Planning Party – beginning.

I’ve wanted to learn something special for a very long time.  Poi. To be more specific, I’ve wanted to learn the art of Fire-Dancing.  I’ve been on a class schedule mailing list for the last 18 months for the Portland area and I just haven’t worked up the nerve or the backbone to commit.  Since changing my diet and starting to work out, I’ve developed a lot more energy as well as some new courage these last few months – so yesterday I went and purchased a starter set for beginners. 

No fire, yet.  That won’t come until I learn to spin the poi and dance without braining myself with the weights or igniting any vital body parts.  I went into the back yard where there’s a large flat stretch of paving and practiced for about 40 minutes last night and by the time I finished I was dripping sweat and I thought my arms would fall off. 

I barely managed in that time to keep flat planes and concentric circles.  It was a lot harder to look graceful than I thought.  I bought the video as well and spent the evening admiring the beauty that is fire dancing.  I’ve wanted to do this for years so it’s about damn time that I get started.

For anyone in the Portland area who is interested in Poi, there’s a spin-off at Dante’s on Sunday night and I plan to be there.  It’s one of the most passionate, erotic and energetic forms of dance that I’ve seen. 

I have to admit I can’t wait to get home tonight and take my little beanbag practice Poi out into the yard and break a sweat again. With some serious work and a lot of luck I hope to be playing with fire by the end of summer.