Do you hate your job?

Don't raise your hand if you hate your job ... please!

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much negativity is spread by everyone who regularly complains about how much they hate their jobs to anyone who will listen. And I've started to think that maybe it's because I just don't understand that concept (which could be caused by my fortunate upbringing by parents who believed you should do what fulfills you and had parents who also believed this ... plus my continued exposure to a lot of people who espoused these same "dream hard" values throughout my life). Why do people stay in jobs that become a source of daily pain and frustration? Why do they believe that whenever they are not as work is the only time they can really be themselves and find peace and contentment? You can call me lucky, but I don't see finding yourself in a job you love as having anything to do with luck. And doing what you love is not an anomaly. It has to do with strength ... and believing in the truth:  We have choices.

Sometimes we don't like our choices. God knows, I've been in plenty of situations where every choice was terrible, but there were still options. None of us are ever truly out of control in our own lives. We sometimes just don't believe in our own strength to go the way that might seem to be impossible now, but typically has life-changing payoffs.

When did we become so afraid of risk? And when did we start to think it was the norm that we should be miserable, hate our lives ... and tell everyone on the planet about it, spreading that toxicity everywhere we go? You'd think that in a world that continues to open up so widely for all of us, we'd have more hope, joy ... and less fear. I know there are atrocities in the world. I know there are annoying people (and trust me, I love to tell stories about the many dark comedies of their errors and have fallen victim to them as much as anyone else has). And I know sometimes you have to bide your time at a job that is less than ideal while you work towards dreamier circumstances. But when did we become endlessly-complaining victims of our own circumstances?

I made the difficult choice a long time ago to do what I love. And a lot of the time it's been a back-breaking challenge that has left some significant emotional carnage. But when I stop to think about settling for less than what I was born to do, I know that I will always ultimately refuse.

I stopped entertaining humorless and victimized complaints from people who will not change their circumstances. If you're unhappy, you can always do something about it. If you're in a job you hate, at least have the decency to spend some time figuring out what really fuels you ... then go towards that light with everything you have. And if you're unwilling to make a choice to better your situation, shut up and take it like a man or woman, and please also take responsibility for the fact that ultimately, it is always you who drives your own bus. It's pretty simple.

I'm an extreme realist, so do not let any of this be misinterpreted as blowhard sunshine. I'm just urging everyone to stop the negative dialogue and rediscover some spark. It's not helping anyone if you have no reason for being here.

Belated Thanksgiving Gratitude

Although the past few weeks (really, the past many years) have been full of personal challenges and great failures for me, they have also been full of some triumphs. Still, it's becoming difficult for me to envision a time when there's less struggle, as that has become the norm rather than a short-lived exception.

That being said, I've been thinking, annoyedly, about something for a few weeks now:  I am incredibly thankful for my creative life and the community of incredibly imaginative people that have always gathered around me. In my personal and professional travels, I have met a lot of people who are an affront to creatives everywhere, taking advantage of them financially as well as taking advantage of their dreams and believing them to be "silly" and misguided in their principles (mostly because they do not understand what it means to create something beautiful, nor do they value what creative products add to the world, or what the world would really look like without them). I recently even met someone unpleasant who doesn't like music (he admitted he only downloads music in the Billboard Top 10, and only so other people think he is "normal") and believes that television, film, theatre and other cultural phenomenon is actually propaganda for a specific liberal political and philosophical agenda and conspiracy. 

Understandably, my mind was blown. His existence is an attack on everything I hold dear and everything that has supported me emotionally and financially my entire life and entirely shaped the person I am.

Ultimately, I am thankful that these people will never have the ability to shape our world. And there are people who would probably disagree with me, but they clearly just haven't looked at history and what creates lovely revolutions, magnificent changes of heart, new inventions and the change and progress that keeps the world interesting.

Note to the unbelievers:  Imagination always wins in the end.

Political Rant One

And now, a rare and sarcastic political rant. Oh goodie!

Now that a week has passed since Sandy hit, it seems we (those of us that have not had our homes torn away from us) can all go back to complaining about non-storm-related things on Facebook again. And after tomorrow, we can stop complaining about the potential problems that will ensue if [insert name of candidate here] gets elected and start complaining again about what he probably will not do while in office. 

aunt sandy is coming for a visit ...

I'll admit it:  I love hurricane names. I especially love when the worst ones are given pleasant names. "Irene" at least sounds like the bitchy old lady next door who tries to poison your dog when it won't stop barking. But "Sandy" sounds like a friendly aunt who comes to visit a few times per year and always gifts you the toys your parents can't afford for Christmas.

I plan to get a lot of work done today. I didn't think I would, but I got the itch to type when I opened up my computer. Let's hope the hurricane produces a maelstrom of ideas -- especially the ones I need to finish my website (which is launching, let's hope, on Friday this week ... after SIX LONG YEARS)! At this point, like any hurricane worth its salt, this very unread blog might die ... or at least change direction.

tiny excerpts

Because I can't think of anything interesting to write about (save maybe the fact that an entire night spent awake watching TV with a favorite on Friday was confusingly punctuated by a Dusty Rhodes documentary at 9 a.m. -- none of which was interesting), I will post a tiny excerpt from a very rough essay book chapter I'm working on currently (and I hope to finish this at some point this week, along with at least one other thing):

"My bad bike karma began innocuously, with some unimpressive tumbles on breezy, traffic-free residential side streets. My mom, dad and sister took family bike rides on crisp spring and hot summer weekends to a semi-secret meadow of honeysuckles and lilacs, even though everyone in my family was desperately allergic. The blossoms stared at us all in a row, the entrance to a long field that seemed untouched despite being the dividing border between two neighborhoods. Sometimes we would walk our bikes across the field, entering into the alternate universe of the houses just behind ours, which we could usually only glimpse through the narrow slats of our backyard fence. (Years later, my mother would break down and excitedly plant a lilac bush in our very own backyard. I imagine the ashes of my childhood shaggy dog, Cindy, are still buried there, unbeknownst to new owners.) On the way back or to the lilacs, I would sometimes end up laid out on the hood of a car or thrown into a cozy patch of grass at the request of my awkwardly-pedaling limbs."

 

the continuation of inspiration

Today, my drive to do things continues. I have been trying to continue the precious feeling of non-rushed calm that I tried to cultivate while I was in Chicago for almost a month from mid-September - mid-October. I actually find I get less done when I worry about some of the meaningless details about career advancement and general accomplishment -- like how many pages or notes of creative content I should be writing in a day, when the last minute I can finish a transcription is before I'm deemed lazy, when I need to start writing a bio for someone. I sit and spin my wheels for days, feeling guilty about watching TV or anything I do that is not directly contributing to my output.

No more.

Why don't I just wake up and write something ... anything? The worst that can happen is something semi brilliant.

In other news, I want, I want, I want ...

Also, I need to finish my bio and other website content.

And finally, my sister turns 40 today, and I feel this has to be impossible. 

I suffer therefore I write ... therefore, am I?

This cliche question brought to you by my realization (and I know all writers realize this at some point) that sometimes the only time I can create poignant/heartbreaking/affecting writing is when I am miserable. Actually, it's not really when I am miserable that I can create, rather when my heart, mind and soul (and bank account) are in limbo. This state of being is pretty much the definition of existential misery.

I hate waiting. And I have been doing it my whole life ... or at least for the past 11-12 years.

If I am basically satisfied with my life, will I stop noticing interesting things in the world and stop being capable of stringing words together that mean anything?

When I feel less of myself, I seek to find more of it in language. When I feel more myself, I feel no need to reaffirm my connection to the planet through words.

It's stupid, simple and complicated, all at the same time.

I am currently pushing to get my website up so I can feel that I have accomplished something rather than am just keeping myself alive. I also need to get back on the "approaching agents" horse. I went through a bit of a freshly-rejected period (after getting some rejections, none of which implicated I was anything but a fantastic writer) where I didn't want to do anything with that part of my life.

Then again, emptiness is hard to fill with more emptiness.

there goes my neighborhood ...

Once again, I fall short of my own self-imposed expectations by not keeping up this blog.

However, the good news is, I manage to be really kicking ass at working with artists on their bios ... and really enjoying writing them. The quality of the music has started really going up too, so I think that's a good sign that I'm fine tuning my process, and that my attempt to work hard for people is working, and that my psychoanalytic abilities are pretty decent.

Maybe I missed my calling as a therapist.

In other yet somehow still related news news, my week is not going so well in some personal/emotional areas. But, I'm not one to go into "Dear Diary" mode.

Also, I often get the feeling that I am really underachieving, especially when I am able to do something work related very quickly, then the next day, start a grueling process of procrastination that lasts for three weeks. 

The End.

Female Topless Boxing

My Office software has officially arrived, meaning there will be no stopping the productivity from flowing now. I no longer have any excuse not to get right on the ball with everything (though I am still -- albeit quickly -- getting used to the very uptown problem of the keys being in strange places on the keyboard).

First personal warm-up project:  I plan to update the Movie Deuce blog to review a terrible (and fairly emotionally traumatizing for us both) film J and I watched in tandem called "Punch." Have you ever wondered about the fictitious yet wildly popular Canadian sport of female topless boxing? Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg with this one. It is actually baffling that the fact that this "sport" appears in the film is the least of its problems. You basically very quickly forget how strange the concept is and just accept that it exists.

However, this film is an affront to the actual sport of women's boxing and has probably set that sport back at least 20 years.

  

change, now ...

After many years with a janky, inhibiting computer, I am finally typing from a brand, new computer, thanks to the kind trust of a friend and the fire I have lit under myself to get going on the rest of my life. Now that I have some excitement around creating things again (since it is once again easy for me to do what I love), I plan to do much more active contributing of the things that matter most to me to the world. I am also legitimately VERY actively working on getting my book published and building a new website for myself. I am beyond excited about the possibilities and trying to keep realistic expectations of happiness (I think that's one thing I have learned -- both the hard way and the normal way). 

This feels more "Dear Diary" than I would like, but I'm trying to practice accountability in my life. Writing things down is always a major step in that process!

I'm hoping for funnier, better and in general more meaningful posting in the future. And for this blog soon to migrate over to my own newly-designed website at juliarogers.com.

It's been a difficult summer, but growth is magical. And there has been plenty of that.

I am trying actively not to make the same mistakes again, to avoid listening to the judgments of people that might not understand why I need to do the things I need to do or love the people I love and generally not let excuses get in the way of getting things done and thriving on the nourishing food of change.

One Week Ago ...

Last Friday was my dad's retirement party, during which 200 people I haven't seen all together at once in probably 30 years all descended on me at once (and of course, on my sister and my dad).




Here is the speech I gave, because I realize I need to write more, and this is the only thing I've written recently:





I have processed that my dad is retiring, but I’m still not 100% convinced that he will actually go through with it. The thought of him being able to stop teaching – even when forced – is actually kind of laughable.



My dad has been teaching my sister and I for well over 30 years now. Being that my parents were both teachers, both of them always pushed us to be curious about the world, explore it and learn …whenever we did anything. As a result of this, certainly, almost nothing in my life has ever been without meaning or an opportunity to learn something valuable – not only when I lived in their house with them, but also as I’ve gone out into the world. However, don’t think this has always been an inspired and inspiring process. Having a dad this dedicated to teaching – who makes sure others always (and I mean always) learn something – can be fairly …to put it kindly, “challenging.”



If you lived in my house growing up, there was no such thing as a simple question or a simple answer. You had to learn how to get answers to your questions yourself, often with detailed demonstrations and lots of additional questions. I definitely blame my work ethic and the ridiculously long emails I now send to my friends and the people I work with on this. He created teaching opportunities everywhere he went. If we wanted pizza delivered for dinner, we had to have the experience of ordering it ourselves (and put up with some gentle yet persistent coaching while we were on the phone). If you wanted to learn how to use his new computer, you could expect a fair amount of hovering and for him to provide you almost frustratingly detailed instructions about how to press the power button. I also still remember spending hours (or what felt like hours) packing the car for family vacations or when we went away to college each year. If things didn’t fit in right, or if the rest of us were not as delighted by the process of learning how to put together the delicate puzzle of suitcases, etc. as he was, he had no problem totally unpacking everything and doing it again. He was always on a quest to find a better, but more importantly, more enjoyable way to do everything.



Because he wants everyone around him to be well informed yet always inquisitive, whenever you talk to him, you can expect to see things in ways you never saw them before. Just last night, my sister and I were going to use the car to run an errand, and the detail with which he explained the apparently “special” and sensitive process of putting the key in the ignition, adjusting the mirrors, turning on the lights, adjusting the seat (and thousands of other minute car-related details) almost made us question if we’d been driving cars the wrong way for the past 20 years.



I always knew my dad was a teacher, through and through, it wasn’t weird at all having him as a teacher at HF. First of all, thankfully, all his students have always liked him, so I never had to apologize for him. I’m not implying he didn’t occasionally do “embarrassing dad things,” usually involving intricate puns, on class trips, at concerts or in the classroom. I went on three orchestra tours with him. And even when my entire family of four was present (when my sister and I were chaperones on the Spain trip and my mom also went along), he never made it feel like an awkward family trip with 80 other people along for the ride. For the most part, he was pretty well-behaved at school and fair to a fault. And even his quirks only encouraged people to celebrate their own quirks more.



Yes, you’ll be able to get him out of the physical HF building (and probably not even have to use excessive force), but likely all of us will have to continue to deal with his habit of teaching.



So, here’s to my dad. I question that you are really retiring, but congratulations anyway!

Whoops, I Didn't Again

That would be, updating. I had a pretty rough week workwise last week (and "rough" is a good thing, because it means I am actually getting work again), and I am just now coming back into some sort of light of inspiration. After J. critiqued one of my humorous essays last night (which made its way onto this blog last year), I have been feeling like I need to return to writing some sassy movie reviews and warming up my chops again to write something big. I could just go in and hack away at novels, but I think I need to be realistic and at least warm up my muscle on some reading and lighter writing first.

We'll see.

In other news, things are sort of frustrating me right now. I'm trying to exercise some extreme-sport patience. 

lyrics

It's funny how sometimes what you thought were simple, throwaway lyrics when you were writing them become some of the ones that stick with you. My favorite verse/chorus combo of my latest song "Make Up Your Mind." (And I didn't even realize I was writing these for someone really, really specific until I revisited this particular section of the song on Monday night in rehearsal):

You keep me bedside

Guilty midnight reading

Waiting for the landslide

Of unbound feeling

When love speaks deep between your sheets

I’m already far away and fast asleep

(I'm incredibly glad he's back.)

(I'm also glad my songwriting abilities are starting to return. Oh, sweet, cliched love inspiration.)

Xanadu

I hadn't even seen the video for this song, and my first thought when this song (which I hadn't heard in a while) came up on Spotify was that someone needs to tell Goldfrapp that Xanadu wasn't really very cute (at best, it was laughable and drinking-game worthy):



If you have nothing new to say about the '80s, you probably shouldn't say it at all.

before a full week passes ...

I want to commit something to the page.

I've been losing motivation lately in all areas of life, save the area in which I discuss sit-coms from the '80s and actors who appeared in Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes.And of course, this soul paralysis always occurs when I need to get by act together the most and make some money.

I'm pretty tired of writing about the struggles of writing and inspiration. And you'd think this frustration would be enough to motivate me to do everything in my power to change what is lacking.

regrettably ...

While I make zero place in my life for regret or dwelling on what I perceive as the "good old days" (meaning, all unique experiences past, which were probably not as unique and magnificent in reality as I remember), there are some moments when I stop to think about all the things I will never again experience, and it is fairly depressing.

There are better things ahead (or at least that's what we all have to hope to continue on any semblance of an enjoyable path), but waxing philosophical on the previous thought is at the very least humbling.

make up your mind

The Title of this entry is also the title of the new song I just wrote. And funnily enough, while the song was really about an old situation that came back into my life briefly recently, upon seeing another old "situation" that I used to song-write about all the time (and who was the inspiration for Mister Badger in the first place) posting on Facebook about yet another career change ("No, really -- this time I've discovered my true calling. I am not meant to do [insert whatever I am currently doing for work here]."), I realized people who can't make up their minds -- about ANYTHING -- are a recurring theme in my life.

That's about it. It wasn't an epiphany, but it brought back all the frustration. Honestly, at least the people I've known who are floundering non-grown-ups have committed to being floundering non-grown-ups. I can somehow respect that a lot more. And, I never question what I'm getting.

My take on Lent

Lent: A second chance to fail at your most punishing and unreasonable New Year's resolutions.

Note: I believe in neither New Year's resolutions nor depriving oneself for Lent. Life is hard enough already! We should be adding on new experiences, trying new things and doing more of what makes us happy at every opportunity.

the effects of too much crime docu-drama

Is that even a category name? In my limited spare time lately, I've been watching way too many TV crime documentaries, which inevitably leads me to dream of a life as a true crime novelist or biographer.

But I think that's too much serious business, and I should get back to writing about the stranger-than-fiction hilarity of my own daily experience. (And yes, I am also wondering when that is going to happen exactly, as I've not exactly been too good on the creative writing front lately.)

I guess this is one more support for the fact that violence/depravity/etc. in movies, TV and video games does not create criminals, if the proper upbringing (is that what I would call it?) is there. As desensitized as I have become to horror/sci-fi/fake movie violence (I can eat meat with wild abandon during the most flesh-noshing part of a zombie film), I was happy to find my stomach still turned a bit when faced with descriptions of real, grisly crime scenes.

And, now, my next topic of discussion will be how unfortunate it is when you really want to make mean but hilarious comments about someone on Facebook, then realize you have to censor yourself because that person is your Facebook friend. What a shame ...

Things for which I'm Thankful

Even though it's hardly Thanksgiving season right now and things are not so easy that I'm "thankful" for the myriad challenges I'm facing (just to spice things up), I think I need to get in a "thankful" mindset or I'm going to drown in negativity. So, this is the short list I can muster at the moment. Some things on the list are immediate, others are on-going. And some are probably pretty stupid/materialistic, but they are keeping me sane.

1. The large array of fantastic (and not so fantastic) British television shows on Netflix.
2. My one steady client and great friend, who is keeping me in electricity, internet, phone and up with my mortgage (even if I'm falling behind in other areas).
3. The fact that one of my short-term contracted projects right now is transcription of a tele-seminar surrounding how to get better at sales from a genius business and life coach I would otherwise not be able to afford, and that this is my exact area of most struggle. (And I better use that gift, or I'm just stupid.)
4. Friends who put up with me even during this time when I feel incomplete and unable to give all I want to give, and who spoil me with little, kind acts of generosity and humor. (I need to better learn how to see these acts as "points of thankfulness," as often I think I miss them while waiting for the grander gestures from the people I want to help me, but who are probably not capable of giving.)
5. A more hopeful and thankful future. If it isn't coming, this intense time that sometimes sends me into moments of annoying despair and obnoxious self pity has no point.

Also, I need to add that I started out titling this "Things I'm Thankful for" in an attempt to be informal, which is the purpose of this blog. But it just pained my grammar sensibility too much, so I had to make it right. And that makes me annoyed by myself. I'll try to get over it.

negative comments

I have many "theme" blogs that I have started over the years, not surprisingly, many of which I have all but abandoned (or that I update very infrequently). One, which I deemed "Stuff Pretentious People Like" started out as a way to complain semi-anonymously about a rather "affected" person in my life who was driving me crazy (and whom I have since cut out). I haven't felt the ire rising in me lately to celebrate exaggerated affectations (much to my dismay, as it can be one of my favorite things to do), so I haven't come up with a post in a while. (And obviously these posts expanded to include observations about many people and trends in the world that are over the top, so you'd think there would be plenty for a diatribe. I have failed.)

However, every few months, someone bothers to leave a comment on the blog. What started out as kudos for a target well scathed has turned into being told I'm an evil, unkind and bitter person for making fun of annoying people and things that are apparently helpless -- because making fun of the fact that a 40-year old still brags loudly about SAT scores to belittle a first date or that someone is sporting a mustache that makes him look like a wildebeest just to get attention (because presumably there is nothing interesting enough on the inside) is apparently akin to drop kicking a puppy.

But you know what they say about opinions ... and arguing on the Internet ...

a transcriptionist's gripe

Something I learned about how people handle it when you ask them for revisions of a transcription you did of their interview and they are not used to hearing themselves talk (and are slightly embarrassed by the awkward way they think they've come across): They are prone to exaggeration of your "inaccuracies." When they send back revisions that say, "I went in and had to fix a slew of errors the transcriptionist made," they mean, "I had to go in in one spot and re-type in the name of that band no one has ever heard of that I completely mumbled that was last performing 30 years ago and thus has no online presence." I'm such a failure!

songwriting day

I've decided that if we don't go into the studio today to record (which is likely given what a crappy time we've had trying to get them to commit to the time we book/suggest be booked), I'm going to try to finish a song. I haven't written one in probably two years, and I'm finding that pretty unacceptable.

Also, in very unrelated news, I saw a guy at Barnes & Noble yesterday coming out of the bathroom with a coffee table book about romantic movie moments. My thoughts immediately wandered to the "toilet book" Seinfeld episode. Plus, I am pretty sure there is no sadder book he could've selected as bathroom reading.

Earnest Plans

Plans have begun in earnest to get this noveling show fully on the road by February 1st. I've set some real deadlines for myself in terms of shopping my novel around in 2012, and this is going to happen. I'm sure it will just make me pissed off at how easy it all is. I have to stop lamenting over the fact that my publishing deal fell through last year before it even really got going (though yes, it certainly was frustrating that I had the contract in hand), and just start going again.

So, my first deadline is Monday, January 23rd: a new query letter. I'm going to do it right this time.

I'm not allergic to work.

creative what-ing?

That describes my day. I couldn't find creativity if it was sitting on my face. I was really hoping to take advantage of a quick work slow down (which is sure to end in the next couple days) and do more than no writing work. At least I managed to change a few words in one of my creative essays yesterday.

Mister Badger goes into the studio again tomorrow. I'm hoping it will be more productive (and sound better vocally) than last time. My voice was not in good shape, and I didn't even realize it.

writing for fun

For the past few years, I've had near paralysis when it comes to just writing without concern for the finished product. I used to write just to see where characters or an idea might travel if I just started going and didn't stop until I had created something -- even if that something wasn't polished, great or didn't work out at all. That was really the original purpose behind this, because that's always how I wrote as a kid. And damn, I was prolific.

I think I need to step away from my structured projects and just write a story, without concern about whether or not it is expressing the many things I know I need to express about life, love and the things that are important to me before I die. We'll see if I can stick to that without putting restrictions on the process in the middle of it.

Monday morning writings, rantings and ant-resolutions

I think my tendency to beat myself up about how I don't keep this up regularly (and my tendency to continuously come back claiming I am going to be "better" about it "this time) is not unlike a New Year's resolution, which I REALLY don't believe in. So, I'm going to stop setting standards for myself. I'm just going to continue to do what I'm doing in hopes I will continue to be motivated at the right times to make enough money to survive (which I have BARELY been doing, but I'm not homeless yet, so ... success!) and try to be happier. I definitely don't want to follow the lead of friends I've seeing ruining my Facebook feed with lying-to-themselves-statements of how rice pasta and gluten-free muffins are better than either of their real counterparts (and how people who eat fruit or drink juice should just kill themselves for being evil and wrong). So, I won't (once again). I also still won't be saying, "You go, girl," or, as I'm seeing it has changed spelling now, "U go gyrllll" ... And that doesn't mean I'm a negative, pessimistic person or that I want other people to fail. And, I know there is at least one person out there who claims that I am sending secret messages about how much I hate myself and want to die by having a dark sense of humor about life. Get over it.

That being said, today I do plan to work on some creative writing, as I'm at the "in between" point where I have to wait for the groundwork I've done to get new clients (at least for the next few days) to turn into something real, and I shouldn't be watching so much Netflix while I wait. The book of essays is calling my name, as are my three other novels. But, I think I'll approach this reasonably and not set any harsh goal for how many words I should complete before midnight (and it's hard to do that, because I always do it inside my head even when I claim "out loud" that I won't). I have enough pressure to deal with.

I read this anti-resolution article this morning by Charlie Brooker of The Guardian, and while most of the article was not about the ridiculousness of resolutions (rather observations about the ridiculousness of humankind and pop culture in general), it reinforced all my belief about the New Year and reminded me of why I'm annoyed that my running routes are always clogged from January-March (which is the month the last people clinging to their resolve finally give up each year).

The supposed "magic" of the calendar flipping over isn't going to make anyone suddenly become radically different. Change happens a little at a time, and people need to stop living life like it's an endless series of painful boot camps.

organized?

I think it's that time again (it happens about every three months) where I claim I'm going to get better about writing something creative (or at least "craft"y) daily, do it for a few days, then give up again.

(Yes, that's really all I have to say, but, as I've said before, at least it's something.)