Perfect Anticipation

This week I experienced something like bliss. I, for a moment, had everything I wanted. To me it is not the actual having, but the knowledge that it will be had, the attaining that matters. There is joy in the destination, but the journey is much longer and therefore gives the opportunity for even more joy. I have been granted the opportunity to study with the greatest minds in my field, on my way to gaining the career I have always wanted, surrounded by friends, loved, in the city I adore. I may not yet own my own apartment, or make the kind of money I want, or have the job I am after, but it's coming. It is all at my fingertips. Walking through the Village, feeling the warm breeze and perfect 75 degree weather that is neither hot nor cold, I had everything I ever wanted. I had the concrete version of hope: anticipation.

I left work early to go listen to a panel discussion on food in the context of memoirs. Entering the vast Bobst Library at NYU, I was overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. The atrium is open, pulling your eye up the seemingly endless floors of books. There was a lounge area to my right, all wood paneling and portraits. There was so much history, so much greatness, I was in awe. As the speakers were introduced, my sense of wonder was heightened further. Before me were men and women who knew James Beard and Julia Child, the first panelist was the great-nephew of MFK Fisher! These people are my superstars, my heroes, the people I long to know. I want to collect them like porcelain figures, lining them up in pretty display case in my home. I want to keep them all and surround myself with them and bask in their stories and ideas. This is what I get to do! I have the unimaginable honor of working with these people, learning from them and perhaps one day teaching them something too. I want to be one of them, in the company of these giants.

It is not helpless longing, it is a reality. I have gotten something that I wanted so deeply, transforming a fantasy into a reality. It is no wonder than that walking out of the building, into that perfect spring air, that I felt so completely, peacefully happy.

The present and future are inextricably linked for me. I used to live in the past or the future, in a constant state of sentiment or dream. This can lead you down a very dark path. The past is untouchable and the future, especially if you have a dark vision of it, uncertain and cold. The place I now reside is solidly in the present, with the future as my horizon. It is always moving back as I move toward it, but knowing it is there, seeing it everyday more clearly as I near, that propels me forward.

In Colorado you can always tell West by the towering mountains, seeing them orients people. On a cloudy day, if they were to be masked, one would suddenly feel a bit lost. How could you feel anything but pleasure watching the beautiful, towering peaks in the distance? They are there, they are solid, they are waiting for your arrival. This is how I see my future and my dreams. I do not reside there, but they decorate my landscape, orient me and fill me with a glowing warmth.

My dreams do not make my present look inadequate, they make it breathtakingly beautiful. I can only hope the view from the top can compare.

Coming Home to N Y U!

I scheduled a meeting with my advisor today, and in typical Felicia fashion, I ended-up getting lost and arriving late and frazzled. I went to 35 E 4th Street, which was an abandoned building. I circled said building twice before deciding it was the right address, but clearly the wrong place. I did not bring the phone number, because I am a fool, so I wandered and cursed and kept calling 411 until I finally got a hold of a woman who informed me the office was 35 W 4th Street. As I roamed around I kept telling myself “you are the customer, you are the customer”, but it didn’t matter, I still felt like a douche!

Dr. Ray had taken his next appointment early, so I sat down to wait for her time slot. I happily read a pamphlet about the NYU Library food collection, a welcome distraction from my shoddy nerves. After reading it twice, I slipped it into my purse and started flipping through a culinary trade magazine. The receptionist called me back and sent me into his office. He was a handsome Indian man, with whom I was already dually impressed with after reading his bio online. It is rare that smart men I am attracted to on paper actually turn out to be so good looking. I guess today was just one of those days.

I was completely unprepared for the meeting, forgetting the forms containing my student number in my office (and the aforementioned phone number!). He was gracious and said he would see if he could locate my file.

When he left the room, I began running my eyes across the stacks of books and the blasted pictures of children, which I am sure are his (how could this man be single?), but the books are what really caught my eye. Sociology, history, cookbooks, novels, for some reason they made me so quietly ecstatic, so deeply happy I wanted to cry. I suppose it is like seeing home for the first time, you spend so much time imagining it that when it appears in front of you it doesn’t seem possible. My vision of “home” is still a blurred watercolor, but something about those books, all the adventures they represent, they felt like my first glimpse.

My file had not yet arrived from admissions, (I did just get in on Friday!) but he said we could do a broad advisement now anyways. That would allow him to clear my account for registration. I already knew exactly what I was planning on taking, but I coyly said, “Oh, I have a few ideas”. (I didn’t want him to feel like his job wasn’t useful, or that his advising skills were not appreciated).

I explained my choices and he laughed, “You certainly are easy to advise! I suppose that must come from your prior training”. I replied, “I think it comes from all the waiting!” He commented on how difficult it was to get in this semester. He printed me some information on how to register once my account cleared and gave me his business card. He told me that I could write him anytime if I needed help. He would even walk me through the online registration if I needed him to. He then mentioned for the second time how difficult it was to get in to this program this semester and how proud I should be; I just reiterated how excited I was. We said goodbye and I floated out to the elevator and back down to 4th Street.

Walking back toward the VA, I again felt the seemingly permanent smile playing across my face and felt the tears begging to come out of my eyes. This flux of emotion is new and familiar to me, I can’t quite place it.

Back in the good ol’ “mental” hospital, I decided to e-mail Dr. Ray my student number, and let him know what a pleasure it was to meet him. He promptly replied, saying the number would help and that it was his pleasure meeting me today and he looks forward to working with me. That e-mail was followed by a CC to his assistant, asking her to clear my account. I am in Love!

Now it is time to get back to the present, back to discharge rounds tempered with dreams of things yet to come! There has been a shift though, rather than living with possibilities alone, hope is accompanied by anticipation. I got into NYU!!!

Everyone keeps telling me my life is about to change, I have no doubt. The future is bright and therefore backlight, I have no idea what is to come, but I feel like it is going to be beautiful.

Bouncing Back

Well, it was one hell of a week! I had the most atrocious look of misery plastered on my face, there was no rallying. The gig took a huge turn for the worse when I was stripped of my office and put in a little box with two clerks, phones that never stop ringing and not an ounce of privacy. My foodie group was being somewhat unresponsive and I was feeling very bleak. Nothing could pull me out of this funk, not a wine tasting, not kind words from Gus, not a damned thing!

Well, I hit rock bottom today and miraculously bounced. Things began to turn in my favor when I spoke to my "big boss" about the unacceptable office situation and she was as outraged as I was. Then I got a surprise call from a fellow in our Brooklyn office asking if I would be willing to come conduct some cooking classes for his PTSD patients. This pleased me immensely.

I wandered down to the 14th St CSA and met the lovely woman who runs the program. I should have know that she would be great, she is after all one of my "food people"!

All this positivity was enough to prevent a complete brain aneurysm when I received a call informing me that I was going to be stuck with an outlandish car repair bill. Yes, I took that one like a man.

Feeling almost human, I went to my bodega and bought some "almost real" food. Nothing much, just some soup and a frozen Kashi pizza, but it's a start! It is baby steps with me and my oven. The thought of cooking is starting to feel a bit less nauseating. In my mailbox I found my gift subscription to bon appetit, inspiration! This made me smile.

I suddenly felt excited about the new possibilities. This weekend I am going to get my home back in order, relax in my own skin and maybe, just maybe buy some real food to start cooking again.

I smiled effortlessly for the first time in days, not a cynical smirk, but a summertime, breezy, heartfelt smile.

I know it seems crazy, my current aversion to my greatest pleasure, but the idea of cooking for one, pouring my heart into a dish with no audience in mind; it is heart wrenching. Last summer was different. Each dish was for me, but I also knew that the great successes would be repeated for D when he got back. Cooking is an art, it is meant to be shared. Cooking for yourself is more like painting your walls. I must start thinking of it as a way to live well. I typically begin to eat simple, healthy food when I am alone. No great effort or creativity put forth. It is utilitarian, not artistic expression. It pains me to think of cooking a beef burgenon in my new Le Cruseut for an empty house. Perhaps I can learn to create beauty for me though. I am at least going to try to begin sustaining myself!

I am feeling hope anew today. On one of the harder, uglier days the sun seems to have peeked through the clouds. I suppose it feels as though the hole in my chest is beginning to be filled, one grain of sand at a time. That has been my overwhelming ache this week. Emptiness and anger.

You see, I did not realize what a huge, gaping hole D. would leave in my heart. The excitement and contentment I felt coming home to him, cooking for him, laughing with him. I have tried to fill that blasted hole with cocktails, food (Poor fattie Fi!), friends, work, but it all just disappears in the void. This, of course, leaves me starving for more: more attention, more carbs, a better job to lose myself in. When it all fails, I truly feel like I have nothing. That's where the anger comes in.

I have been so angry at myself, who else is there to blame? I am angry about my paranoid delusion that my neediness is poisoning my group, my heart and everything in my life. I am angry about screwing up, because only a screw-up could have such a shitty life. I am angry that I am stuck in a stupid job that doesn't even serve as a distraction for me. I am angry that I thought things would be for the best this way. I am so damned angry for not knowing how hard this was going to be. I am furious that when it comes right down to it, I have nothing real in my life or on the horizon. That's how I felt anyways.

The rational side of my mind knows that I am starting a new part-time culinary job on Saturday, I have an EWI Bo Ssam Event on Sunday (and no one is turning against me, there is an ebb and flow in participation in the group), NYU is still a possibility, Keith is coming in March, Jo is coming in May, Gus has already planned me one birthday outing. Basically, things are good in my life, it is just my pained perspective that is discoloring it. Guess what though? The rational side is finally gaining the upper hand!

My heart is starting, every so slowly, to see the beauty, to allow for genuine smiles. I know this burst of euphoria will probably not last, but I have gotten to the point in my life where I realize that it is not the unwavering durability of happiness that makes it valuable, any appearance it makes is worth savoring. I no longer live in fear of disappointment (well, not all the time!), I relish the good moments, knowing they Will not last indefinitely.

Life is long;long enough to see us through the bad times that seem interminable, and long enough to allow us to revel in the good times that we wish would never end. Who knows what kind of day tomorrow will be, but for tonight I will cherish my easy smile and glimmers of hope.

The Gray Waiting Room

Waiting rooms can be places of anticipation, of fear, of boredom, of detachment.
The gray waiting room, with mere sadows pacing back and forth offers little joy. Looking out the window for a glimmer of beauty I see only gray clouds, no sunlight or signs of life to distract me. Distraction, that is the order of the day.

I move to another waiting room some days, this one is beige. There are a few distractions here; a joke, a smile, meaningless banter. Between these rooms, I search for signs of life beyond the walls,but those here with me seem to have found their home here. Even their dress reflects the monotone palate of the space. They are here and they aren't going anywhere.

I come to this place in the shadow of darkness and leave after the sparse rays of light have gone. My hours are good, much more limited than I have ever had before, but the weariness I feel seems to lengthen my days and steal my time away from this place.

I have been working here for a month now. I paint on a smile like a warrior puts on camouflage; just part of the uniform. I am good at my job, but I always am. My heart is not here though, it is too busy doing somersaults inside my chest. Watching the parade of sick old men come through my office affects me in ways I never expected.

I have never been squeamish before. I spent time in the hospital in Mosul, Iraq. Never was I taken aback or nauseated. The young wounded and ill, my brothers and sisters, they did not frighten me. The deteriorating lives I see on the wards and the infectous disease warnings that flash across my computer screen make my stomach jump. My compassion is stronger than my reservations, I touch the patients- a reassuring hug or pat on the shoulder, but this is always followed by a large dose of hand sanitizer when I am back in the confines of my little office.

I help them as best I can, but in a large bureaucratic organization, I am just one tiny piece of the machine. Reading the files I am filled with sorrow and rage as I read about men who destroyed themselves and who were destroyed by others. My job is not hard but it is heavy. I am just so tired.

I built my new life this year on the knowledge that your job does not define you, that life can be lived around your 9-5. I am struggling though. I need the life, the beauty, the hope that springs from my pretty past-times, but the gray exhaustion has consumed some of that. I find it hard to come home sometimes. I work a second job, make plans and go out, the gray exhaustion waits for me when I enter my apartment, throwing me into bed and pinning me down for anxious sleep.

My glimmer, my shining star on the horizon is starting school at NYU in January. Yesterday, as the impatient admissions aid told me that I had been wait listed, I felt my heart drop into my stomach and I felt my hands begin to shake slightly. For some reason, through all the little sorrows of the last few months, tears have not come for me, and yesterday was no different. How I long for tears, but my eyes are like deserts, instead re-routing all the anxieties in my life to the pit of my stomach.

Wait listed is not a no, I know that. I need this so badly though, I want to cling to it like a life raft when the gray walls begin to close in on me! I need a place in my life where intellect, creativity and passion can take me out of this waiting room, help me soar above it and see it as merely a tiny piece of my world, not the hulking megalith that stands before me now. But it is not a no. I will move forward as though it WILL happen. There is always a sweetness to painful longing, it is the knowledge that you have found something to desperately desire, kind of like being in love.

Perhaps it is not the room but the season. Winter is a gray bitch indeed. For now I will cling to my sweet distractions, continue to paint-on a smile and pray for the warm sun of springs yet to come.

Holy Shit It's Humpday of Week 7

Wow, time does fly! Every year it seems to go faster and faster. It scares me. I have always been so fearless and I think that came from the beautiful youthful freedom of believing in your own immortality. I'm not so sure about that anymore! Anyways, it's humpday and I am trying to get caught-up, trying to get the birds-eye view of my week. It helps my concentration having my boss on a cross-country flight to Alaska!

Well, I have done nothing but go home and sit on my ass so far this week. Hey, thank goodness it's only Wednesday! I have been working-out religiously, I have an EWI event planned for Sunday, I am writing right now, I need to work on my food studies personal statement. I need to figure out my recipe of the week, NYC experience and try to do something social. Looking at my calendar I have quite a bit of sitting-on-my-ass time scheduled. I guess that is good for working on my projects, but I am afraid of falling into old habits.

Hopefully, this week I will find out what the next step is for the VA job. I am not totally sold on it. It is better hours, a bit better pay, and a better title. What's not to like, right? I suppose I have gotten comfortable here. My job is silly and frustrating, but I have a few friends and some days are good. I guess I also don't want to feel bad when I quit to go to school. I would feel like a jerk if I took the job and then quit a few months later to go to NYU. What am I saying though, I did take the job. They offered, I tentatively accepted, now I need to start the pre-employment process. Nothing is easy or fast with the government! I am going to do what I always do, flog my fear by diving in headfirst. It is much easier for me than indulging the whiner within, the one clinging to the familiar. I do hope I can allow myself to cling to the familiar someday. To have a place to call home, a place where people know me and love me and are not going to be deployed or moved away from me on a two year rotation. Until then, I am going to cling to my other nature: brazen adventure and change.

Well, the day is young, we'll see what I can come-up with for the rest of the week.