Yellow Light
June 27th, 2006
In some ways, this weekend was wonderful. I got to eat Chinese food, take Sunny to the beach, see my nephew compete in a championship Little League farm league and drive around my state. Most of all, I got to see Adam’s grandfather hold our new nephew, which was just about the most moving thing I’ve ever seen, ever, in the history of things on this earth. And I can’t believe I said ‘moving,’ but it was, so you shut up. He’s 87 and perfect.
I also spent at least 11 hours wasting precious brain cells wondering how why a dog was wearing a raincoat throughout the weekend. A dog is not meant to wear a rain slicker, and it is most certainly not at home in the Natick Mall food court next to the Sbarro. But…alas. I can’t go there and really, I could, to a dangerous degree.
But a dog also is not meant to wear a hat with sunglasses on top of its head and a tennis skirt, either, but that’s all I’m saying and I promised myself I wouldn’t go there.
But I want to.
So bad.
But anyway.
Home was a weird thing to see. I expected to feel pangs of nostalgia when I saw fishermen at the pier loading in their catch and hauling out the lobster traps for another trip out to sea, and I did. It was raining softly, and the man in the yellow rain jacket might as well have been the Morton’s fisherman, and for all I know, he was. It was so beautiful out there – so green, lush and authentic in that New England way that only exists in postcards and the North Shore.
I was also stressed, which terrified me. I went to bed with chest pains every night. On the plane heading down there, I saw a man with a pile of papers that were clearly analyst reports and financial tables and I was pretty sure I was going to have a panic attack at the sight of him, because I’ve BEEN HIM. This may or may not have been exacerbated by the fact that we were mid-climb and he stood up and started reaching into the overhead bin and pulled out an actual, full-size Swingline stapler and began sorting through the paperwork, stapler in hand before we could use electronic devices and let me tell you, NO ONE BREATHES before we can use electronic devices, much less STAPLES ANALYST REPORTS. THERE IS NO STAPLING DURING THE INITIAL CLIMB. And how did he get a Swingline on that plane? You could kill someone with a Swingline! The flight attendant, who introduced herself on the PA system as “Mrs. Nichols,” had to come over and restrain the man, who was not pleased that his frenzied stapling was interrupted. And again: Mrs. Nichols? Why not Jane? Annabeth? MRS. NICHOLS.
I never expected that I’d end up feeling like I couldn’t breathe – like I’d be forced to go back to work at that awful place and make a living shilling technology products and ingratiating myself to mouthbreathing freaks in polyester turtlenecks for coverage in IT weekly publications. Talking to investors and discussing the stock market like I have the slightest clue what I’m talking about (I don’t, and I can’t add 2 + 2, so PLEASE do not ask me how the market works. Despite an embarrassing number of years in financial communications and corporate governance, I have only a rudimentary understanding of SarBox and why stocks go up and down, and I’m not sure I could explain the difference between buy-side and sell-side analysts without confusing the hell out of both of us. There was a day when I could, rather vividly, but today is not that day.)
I could only picture these horrible scenarios, plus the hundreds of hours giving proverbial blowjobs to executives in exchange for a reprieve on that last PowerPoint presentation, and getting shit on by low-level editors at the New York Times because they have nothing better to do, and no one else to poop on but me. Yes, all this was mine, for a nice salary and a hearty helping of my soul.
I couldn’t see a world beyond those confines in Massachusetts. I couldn’t take myself out of the mold I was in the last time I lived there, and I couldn’t see myself living there any other way. I said this before, and I thought I was over it, but the chest pains sealed it: I’m not. I can’t see my life the way it is now anywhere else. I can’t see how I could go back and be a low-level employee the way I am here, when I was so much more there. I can’t see myself being good enough to be a writer at a tiny publication by day and pursue a writing career by night, in additon to being a real person the way I do here. It was easier here, where there was no paradigm for living – no expectation as to how I would be, who I would be, or what I would become. No expectations. I like that.
I guess, um, I like it here more than I thought. But I also couldn’t imagine a life here, either – away from family and friends, an expensive flight for even the simplest of family events. Sigh. Thank God we have a year to figure it out.
Maudlin. Sorry. Just picture a Shih-Tzu in the rain slicker and a tennis skirt. Because it happened.
*Remy Zero
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
11 Comments Add your own
1. carol | June 27th, 2006 at 9:59 pm
I’ve said it before, and i’ll say it again – YOU have a gift for wisdom. You have the ability to figure things out so much more quickly than I did at your age.
I’m glad you had this opportunity to go “home” and that you feel somewhat better about where your life is.
2. RC of strangeculture | June 28th, 2006 at 6:22 am
how funny about not being able to explain things, but pretending like you can. I was an Econ major in college which means that ppl. expect that there are tons of things I might know and be able to tell them.
Usually I know nothing…sometimes, I pretend.
–RC of strangeculture.blogspot.com
3. Kathryn | June 28th, 2006 at 6:47 am
I know what you mean about being unwilling to take a low level position…I know.
I don’t have strong familial connections, in fact my relationship with my family is the opposite; I cannot imagine living anywhere near them. It helps that they live in a place where I would never (ever under even the most dire circumstance) want to live.
If you’re going to be here for the next year, maybe we’ll get the chance to meet after all.
4. Christine | June 28th, 2006 at 7:07 am
Glad that you’ve figured out a little bit on who you want to be. And AM SO SORRY about the clothed Shih-Tzu. That’s enough to give anyone some anxiety.
You don’t have to figure it all out right this moment, and also, there is a lot of space between Florida and Boston…Maybe you could find someplace closer to family that you don’t associate too much with work or your former self? Connecticut, New York?…Philadelphia?
5. Claire | June 28th, 2006 at 7:25 am
It’s amazing how constricted you can feel just by going back after being away from that world for awhile. Memories just come flooding back and they’re not the ones you anticipated. So awful. But like Christine said, there’s a whole lot of coast between Florida and Boston. Long Island’s not so bad.
And poor Sunny… ugh.
6. Lawyerish | June 28th, 2006 at 8:44 am
The doggie outfits? Oy. (Full disclosure: My dog has to wear a coat when it’s cold out because he is a skinny little man and he just stands there shivering without it. But it’s not styled after people clothes. And I would never. Under any circumstances. Put sunglasses on him.)
I am so with you on the tension of the quality of life vs. quality of location thing. I could write a tome here, but I’ll spare you. Suffice it to say, I have an ongoing dialogue in my head about how wonderful it would be to live closer to my parents and/or certain of my friends, and how it would be nice to be in a place that is less job-centric and stressful and maybe I could focus on writing and open a little Danish bakery/bookstore. But, at the same time, I love the city and the friends I have here, and most of the places that would be a bit kinder and gentler in terms of cost of living/quality of life have all sorts of other drawbacks. So mostly I just figure we’ll stay here and at some point an answer will present itself. Do you hear me, Universe?! Let’s work on having an answer, shall we?
7. Whinger | June 28th, 2006 at 9:03 am
Oh the poor, poor dog.
Jobs: It took me a three full years to breathe again after teaching. The tension that someone would MAKE ME GET UP REALLY EARLY AND STAND IN FRONT OF TEENAGERS all day didn’t leave for awhile. But it DID leave. Yours will, too.
And I don’t know that you do have to compromise where you live/job. It may seem like the only answer now: an either/or situation, but keep those pretty eyes open to other possibilities.
8. -R- | June 28th, 2006 at 9:07 am
Mrs. Nichols??? Stapling on the plane??? Dogs in raincoats, tennis skirts, and/or sunglasses??? I am dying.
9. winterwheat | June 28th, 2006 at 1:33 pm
I have a feeling Mrs. Nichols isn’t happy with her job either. At least you had the intelligence to recognize the itchy wool blanket that was your former occupation and promptly claw it off. I picture Mrs. Nichols staring at the mirror in the morning, tight-lipped and muttering, “Today they’re going to respect me. Today they’re going to RESPECT me.”
And who the hell puts sunglasses on a dog? People do that during eclipses too. Friends, listen up: unlike people, dogs have the good sense not to stare at the sun. Ever. Even when there ISN’T an eclipse.
Did you get to eat some good cold-water seafood??
10. GuinnessGirl | June 28th, 2006 at 2:35 pm
Oh, Jonna, could you please somehow beam some of your writing talent over to me? Pretty please? I was glued to the screen for this post, for some reason.
What an interesting revelation to have, though. I wonder if I’d feel the same about Atlanta. (Of course, I doubt it – but I bet you’d have doubted your own experience, too, had it not been yours). (That last sentence did not make sense. Refer above to talent request).
11. sunny | June 28th, 2006 at 3:00 pm
Mom,
You should have saved that dog. Tennis is for wimps!
Love Sunny
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