Unlikely Discrimination Series 2 of 2. Read the first story here!
The Next Lesson from the Bullies
The next weekend, I’m sitting at my crowded dining room table. Two stacks of papers, books, and an unopened laptop in front of me, connected to an external drive. Dark-wooded windows, heavy-lidded from the rainy early-Spring weekend afternoon. A tall dark buffet, inches behind my seat, taking up more air. A yellow-checkered Goodwill lamp across the room does nothing to combat the gloom.
I open up the laptop and take a deep breath. I have to leave my job. My hands clench in frustration. I can’t handle my boss anymore, ignoring me and not talking to me. I notice a clenched jaw to go along with the fists, and stretch them both out wide, ready to stretch open to a new job.
Over the next twenty minutes, I turn on, wait, update, wait, restart, wait, and sign in to my computer. Well, I guess it’s been more than a week. Should have expected that.
I see my bright blue computer desktop background. Success! Then I see it. The Norton Antivirus software icon. Oh shit, it hasn’t run in over sixty days. Oh, yeah, if the computer is off, it can’t run, duh.
I start to run the virus scan and go make some coffee. I plod into my little rental kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it’s all white. White cabinets, floor, counters, walls. I pour some Hawaiian Kona coffee beans, a gift from my folks, into my tiny grinder and smell the freshness.
Five minutes later, I sit down with a cup of hot, smooth aliveness. A flashing exclamation point is blinking on my screen. Oh shit, my computer has a virus. Seriously? Even my rising anger can’t help it start any faster.
I start the virus fix and go to my sunroom to wait.
Even with three walls of windows in the space the size of a twin bed, it’s still not sunny. I wrap myself in a Winne the Pooh Blanket, a gift from my girlfriend, and settle into my scratchy armchair. I watch the rain. I check on my computer. Not done.
I come back to the armchair and admire a kaleidoscope of preschool-to-present artwork by my kids. Looking at their artwork makes me feel a little better, a little less lonely, when they are at Dad’s house. A zest of their spark shines through their creations.
Kimono-ed in my blanket, I shuffle back to my computer. All good! I click on the folder to the external drive where my resume awaits me. What? I don’t have access? WTF?
Is my computer is bullying me, too?
I shake my head. Over the next ten minutes, I fill the void of the house with swear words of technological frustration as I install the software to see the files. I take a large slurp from my second cup of coffee and click on the resume doc.
Success! I take one last glance at a well-worn page to the side of my computer. Resume action verbs. To create accomplishments. On the computer doc, I make a few blank spaces.
I stare at the screen, my mind frantically searching like it’s sprinting through a supermarket. I’m friendly? Welcoming? Organized? I compile a newsletter? I take meeting notes? I follow up? I think about my kids’ artwork. I don’t make anything. Everything I do is common, replaceable.
Maybe I’m not good enough for another job. Maybe I should just stay.
I push back from the table and put my face in my hands.
At some point later, I hear the front door open. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Stacey, my girlfriend, takes off her raincoat and shoes and sits next to me at the table.
“So, sweetheart, it seems you didn’t have a good day. Would you like to talk about it?” she asks.
I get her up to speed with my computer and my disappointment in myself.
“So, did Melody have anything to say about this?” she asks, nodding to a book laying on the other end of the table. She leaves to change out of her work clothes.
I open my favorite book. Another gift to me from a friend. I close my eyes, pick a page, and read.
April 1: Learn to Clear your Path
I read a small story that ends in the following meditation:
Sometimes, the road ahead is blocked, but clearing the way becomes part of our journey. Learn to tell when it's time to let go, to surrender, to search for another road, a different path, another dream. But also learn to tell when it’s time to move forward, through obstacles if need be, because the dream is electric, charged by Divine energy and love.1
Calmness washes over me. Thank you, God, for my girlfriend. For my parents and friends. And for Melody. And for realizing that some things are only obstacles.
I wake up my computer and start to type. To clear my way forward.
- Melody Beattie, Journey to the Heart: Daily Meditations to Freeing Your Soul (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1996), 95.
POEM: A letter to my Bullies
This ride This feeling This view is yours. My fellow Divine Soul, put here in love and energy and light, forgive me if I exit your ride when the only thing you know how to do, is use it to throw shade. Because I’m also meant for love and energy and light, not to wither and rot and die on your shady rides with you.
The SoulJourner Question
I was grateful to have a girlfriend who listened. I was grateful to have the wisdom of Melody. And, only after I found a new job, I was grateful to have learned the lessons from the bullies/obstacles of technology, discrimination, and low self-esteem.
PROMPT: Your life is a series of lessons. Your past lessons give you wisdom. Are you ready to receive it? Are you ready to be grateful, no matter what?
The next time things don’t go according to plan, or you’re really frustrated about something, try going through the five simple steps of the Freedom Shower. It can help you wash away the crappy feelings. Why not try it?
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