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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

Again, I'm writing a novel

I'm finally forcing myself into enough of a self-disciplinary mode to actually work on a novel. It's one of my more emotionally difficult ones (they just seem to get more difficult as time and experience collects), so, wish my luck (just as I am wishing myself luck).

I am also trying to keep this in mind today:

"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." -- Louisa May Alcott

Fear, be gone ...

I am crap at updating

I realize the subject line is a frequent revelation that is also frequently followed by the revelation that I must write creatively more, or I'm going to lose all muscle tone. My exposure to bad internet writing and other nonsense is too great, and I fear that my own skills are in danger of declining.

Plus, I'm feeling rather competitive lately ... in a good way.

My next point of focus is going to be updating my own website, which means I have to actually sit down and revise my resume, figure out a bio for myself, etc. Stay tuned ...

I feel like writing a bad movie review today. But I'm not sure I can endure the bad movie. I watched Fast Five the other day, and, while the end sequence depicting two small sportscars pulling a giant bank vault through the streets that ended up ruining half of Rio was quite impressive on the terrible scale, I'm aware that a lot has already been said on the subject by others who are possibly funnier.

Also, Dear Diary, Today I feel nervous and slightly sad. And I hope it amounts to nothing but my own imagination.

something about being a grown-up ...

In an attempt to re-jump-start my personal blogging (and in preparation for my updated website, which will have a professionally-focused blog I update hopefully much more regularly), I'm going to attempt a real thought.

I had a thought the other day that was too long for a Facebook status message update or a tweet (I don't even want to mention how painful the fact that I've embraced both those technologies as legitimate realities is for me) about what it feels like to finally start coming out of financial darkness. What I came up with is that I'm feeling pretty grateful to be experiencing the inconveniences of grown-upitude again, the biggest one being that when you can pay all your bills, you start to realize that all of them are due at totally different times, meaning you essentially feel like you are always paying bills. Some people might cite this truth as a frustration that makes life difficult. But I am enjoying it with an overwhelming sense of relief that I am finally not living with the stomach knot that is having to hand pick and choose who you piss off by not paying them what they are owed.

More on hopefully much more interesting topics later ...

Banner Day

Yesterday was sort of a banner day. I actually finished a chapter of my essay book. And it was actually semi funny (though, as I've now hyper-critically edited it 300 times already, it feels less laugh-out-loud to me than the first few times I read it).

Unfortunately, I think I may have to scrap a couple essays I've written already. They don't fit in with the overall book and make me very annoyed with myself. And I don't think there's anything salvageable in any of them, so they're not worth rewriting.

If I can finish this effer by July, I will be one happy writer. My goal is about 18 different short-ish essays.

Of course, things tend to not work out as planned when I'm involved, so I'm trying to be as rigid as possible while still remaining flexible when goals are concerned.

This entry was officially less engaging and significantly more annoying than the worst of the chapters I'm garbage-canning.

Less than Banner Days ...

That would be the description of the past few days, and possibly into the future. I went for cheesy but kind of delicious Mexican last night with an old college friend I haven't seen in 12 years, so that was kind of fun. It's always weird to see people from your history enter into your present and future element and realize how much different (yet how much the same) you are from the last time they were a part of your universe.

I have some other thoughts that are less pleasant, but I'm not going to "Hang in There, Kitty"/"Dear Diary" journal.

Now that I've finished my work work for the day, I'm going to get cracking on the real, near-and-dear writing.

In pop culture news, I think I've become hooked on The Voice. I can't get Xenia's rendition of "Price Tag" out of my head, and I felt myself being intensely emotionally affected by a Fergie song ("Big Girls Don't Cry"). In my defense with the second point, I blame it on some other heartbreaking events that happened this weekend that had nothing to do with it.

And I'm sure you thought you had problems ...

I Wish I Had an Evil Twin

Tuesday was a day of very weird events that led me to believe maybe I have an evil twin who is causing a fair amount of mischief. The following things happened:

1. I got a strange call at 8:30 a.m. from Diana at the CT Department of Environmental Protection Boating Division, and she left a message insisting I had called her to ask about boating licenses (this is particularly funny, because my friend Emily and I joke regularly about going on a yachting double date, complete with couples boating outfits, should I ever meet someone that sticks around for more than 5 minutes).

2. I got a bunch of catalogues for wedding registries in the mail (does someone know something I don't?).

3. I had an "epiphany moment" that produced a good idea for a section in one of my novels, and when I went to work on it, I discovered I'd written the very section I had been imagining (but no more than a month ago, since it was based on something that happened to me no longer ago than that).

Oddly enough, last weekend (before any of this happened) I had a dream I was living in Paris in a tiny apartment and was renting out part of it to a pair of middle-aged male twins (one was evil/terrorist/serial killer/etc., who wore a lot of denim shirts with jeans, incidentally ... what's more evil than that?) . There were more details to that. However, I definitely wish I had an evil twin, and that that evil twin did more interesting things to spice up my life than just signing up for wedding registries, planning boating trips in CT and writing decent sections of my books.

Romance, Jesse Ventura Style

So, as slightly alluded to I think in recent writings, I'm going through a little waiting game right now in the romance/love interest area. And thankfully, I can discuss it a little bit because I've kind of discovered I can't mess this one up by voicing anything about it out loud (not that my superstitions previously about love life disclosure have been right either). Because I'm involved in a momentarily star-crossed (but I trust not forever hopelessly star-crossed, because it just doesn't feel like it) situation, I today expressed to the co-entangled, writerly that I am, that at the very least all this waiting and subsequent love lettering could produce a nice both-ways romantic letter-based opus a la Sartre/de Beauvoir. However, it would decidedly be modernized with plenty of Jesse Ventura and Steve Guttenberg references and a fair number of bad specially-effected explosions.

That's about it for now. It wouldn't be my life story if there weren't a fair amount of existential suffering, so this is just how I roll.

Limbo

That title pretty much describes the very unrequited "on-the-brink" feeling I've been experiencing the past month or so. I'm trying to see this test of patience as just something I needed to help me appreciate everything when it hits (patience is not my strong suit, I will admit), but it's hard not to be disappointed that things seem to be at a standstill. I think I understand the true meaning of the term "dying in the friendship of God but not being allowed to enter heaven," even though I in no way believe in that crap (not being Catholic or particularly religious). On a philosophical level, I think the past decade of my life has probably been a little bit limbo-riffic though -- lots of not-quite failures in love, life and career and seemingly no real significant forward movement in any one area (though I know if I look at it much more objectively, this description of my life is hardly true).

This "Dear Diary" moment was brought to you by the grave displeasure of waiting.

Busy and Important

I'm noticing again that I'm encountering people again who are very "busy and important" about the way they organize their time with me. I start to feel like I'm being selfish when I demand a certain level of attention and care be paid to me by friends and others that engage in relationships with me ... but then I realize that's not at all too much to expect, and I start to try to find ways to make sure others know my demands. Unfortunately, there's really no easy way; grabbing the attention of the "busy and important" can be an uphill, losing battle.

I'm fortunate enough to have more than one person I can count on in my life to NEVER be too busy for me (and I realize that I reciprocate this action when people who deserve it are involved). I can count on one hand the people that will make time for me if I need them (and that do make time for me WHENEVER I need them). And these 3 or 4 are quite enough, thank you very much. Some people like to collect friends like they are trading cards or vinyl (and brag about how many friends they have). Honestly, if you are one of these people, I know, being a person who very much emotionally engages in my own life and truly cares about the people I most trust and love that you can't possibly have deep relationships with all these "friends." And I also know there's a distinct difference between "friends" and "acquaintances." I'm not willing to trade close friends for non-close ones (also frequently known, especially in this city, as "drinking buddies").

A lovely phone call from one of my very best friends of my life whom I have known for over 15 years now and who has been there in a heartbeat for me during some horrible times (and when I didn't even ask her to be there) reminded me what real friends are and really helped me categorize some of my more recent "acquisitions" (and also realize what's wrong with some of the ones that are making me unhappy at the moment).

The end message is pretty simple: Make some time for me, and you'll be worthy of me making some time for you ... and probably then some.

Monday

This is possibly the worst/most boring title for a blog post ever. But I've been a little lacking in things to say lately. I did a little work on a few of my books this past weekend, but I feel like it was a pretty lackluster effort. And now, it's Monday, and here I am with a boring update very befitting of Monday. You're welcome?