Instead of asking myself what advice I wish someone had given me one, two, five or 10 years ago, as today’s prompt suggests, I am going to speculate about what I’ll look back on in one, two, five or 10 years and wish I had gotten.
Leave the job. To be fair, I get that one now, and have gotten it for a while now. Thanks, mom.
It’s okay to work another job that’s not “higher up” on a career ladder. Is it getting you closer to what you what to do? Then okay. Actually, I don’t know if this is true. And, unfortunately, I won’t know until after I do it and fuck up. I hate those kinds of lessons.
Write. You want to write. Don’t deny it, Sahara. Do it. Write. Here is it, 10 years later, and you still want to write. Look back on 10 years of stories and novels. Do it.
Good tips here
A Coffee Enema – Different things work for different people. As a marathoner, I appreciate the analogy given here.
My Advice if you are starting out – Success comes after a lot of not success. Do it. Have that “not success.” And if you say it right, “success” sounds like “sexy us.”
Sacred: “means revered due to association with (with something)considered worthy of spiritual respect or devotion; or inspiring are or reverence”
I believe that all rituals, religious or otherwise, are sacred. Rituals connect us to a deeper current within humanity, something we are all connected to, and I think that current is God, or part of God. So I love rituals, though I don’t often focus or think about their place in my life. Therefore, I’m glad to think about them in this (albeit late) response to a daily prompt.
When I do something scary or stressful, as was asked by today’s Daily Prompt, I like to do it alone. I love my family and friends, of course, and I like knowing that they’re supporting me, but beyond that, I’d prefer to be alone.
In a tense or stressful moment, I am building up as much strength inside me as I can and I don’t want to be distracted by other people. Like, if I’m upset, I want to be alone to cry ugly without worrying about bring judged (which I would and do – it’s called cry ugly for a reason.)
Daily Prompt: Why Can’t We Be Friends? – Do you find it easy to make new friends? Tell us how you’ve mastered the art of befriending a new person.
I have memories of, in my youthy youth, going to the swimming pool with my mother. We walked in and put our things down on the plastic lounge chairs, and I said, “Okay, I’m going to go make some friends now.” I jumped into the shallow end and did just that.
I was even cuter than this, I’m sure.
It wasn’t so easy during my adolescence, but I have a better time of it now.
I think part of that is because I know myself and my interests. I’m a social worker that cares about economics and policy. I love to travel and have done a lot of it. I’m a fangirl of such things as Sherlock, renaissance fairs and biking. Part of it is also that other people who share similar interests or backgrounds are eager to be friends with others; it’s easy to connect with people over these things. Finally, I’m out of the house a lot – cigar bars and coffee houses, friends’ houses and on the hiking trail – I have ample opportunity to meet people.
When I was in junior high, we went to church with a man who worked at one of the large event venues in downtown St. Louis. One year, I think in seventh grade, so 1991, my mother woke me up before school…
****wavy going-back-in-time window***
“Hey Sarie! You know Bill and how he works for the stadium? Well, he’s pulled some strings for us to go to the New Kids on the Block concert coming up.”
The very first person I saw this morning, when I crawled over him to get a drink of water before going back to bed, was my Cohiba, my fiancé. When I came back, he curled back into me so sweetly, still dozing.
Yesterday’s daily prompt asks me think about a hero I had at five years old. There isn’t much I can remember from that year, and I even looked up past news headlines to see if that would job any memories. No joy. So I tried to reflect on someone I looked up to, which is my understanding of a hero.
The very first time I worked alone in the homeless shelter, I felt completely overwhelmed, and I didn’t know how I’d make it through the night.
I was a shelter supervisor on Saturday and Sunday night from 4:00 pm to midnight. I had to work the desk phones, oversee dinner, make sure the chores were done, do any intakes that came in, hand out 9:00 pm medication for folks who had them, breathalyze the residents before they went to bed and enforce lights out, and keep notes of everything that happens for legal and case management purposes. In a shelter with, at first, 30ish, and eventually 40 residents. 40.
Ah, being lost in translation. I have lived most of my life in the same city, St. Louis, and so, as a Midwesterner, don’t find myself blessed with the cute regional accents of Boston or Savannah, or even Dallas. There are a few little unique things to STL, though, in a way that toasted ravioli and gooey butter cake is unique to us. Probably the most unique question and the one that newcomers notice first is: “Where’d you go to high school?” (For those of you familiar with this, I went to Parkway South.) This question is almost automatic to any STL native. It’s compulsive.
I have a friend, Ed, who moved here to go to school from Seattle, and he was working a job as a tour guide in the museum under the Arch (which, by the way, is free and really cool). He walking talking about Samual Clements, I think, or someone like that, and someone asked jokingly: “Where’d he go to high school?” Ed was like, “Does it matter?”
Perhaps needless to say, the crowd cooled to him after that. This reflects the small town nature of this city, and it also stems from something else important to understanding the city: City v. County.
There is St. Louis city and St. Louis county. And the county is actually made up of dozens of small cities, like Affton, Sunset Hills, and Hazelwood. So those little cities have their own high schools, and their own “flavor,” if you will. Part of the reason we ask about your high school is that we, frankly, stereotype people based on that. If you told me you went to Ladue, Rockwood, or MICDS, I “know” something about you. (I don’t really, but we stereotype.) Also, I can see if I knew someone who went to Ladue, Rockwood or MICDS during that time, and we forge a connection.
If someone is from south city and especially south county, they may pronounce words with an “or” like it’s “aa.” For example, Corn:Caarn. Four:Faar. This is not completely confined to the south side, but it tends to be like that. Also, the more “aa” your “a’s” are, the more hoosier you are. Which brings us to the next point:
In St. Louis, hoosier, or hoozsh for short, doesn’t mean what it does in Indiana. Here, a hoosier is sort of like a hick, but more educated. Sort of like just white trash, but a little less mean, if you will.
This prompt is good – questions. It may be flagrant self-obsession, but I think it’s interesting and I’ll try to make it enjoyable for readers.
What is your favorite word?
I love words and I love to play with them, so I don’t really have any particular favorite. Perhaps the word “Yes” to certain questions such as “Am I going to Spain?” Yes. “Will I be in Jamaica for two weeks?” Yes. “May I have a Bloody Mary?” Yes. “Will you publish my research?” Yes. “A raise?” Yes. “Go kayaking or stand up paddleboarding?” Yes.