Learning to Keep My Big Mouth Shut

Why do I even open my mouth? 

I ask myself this question on a regular basis. You see, I talk to people all the time. Most of our household income is derived (at least in part) from our interactions with others. Superb customer service isn’t just a lofty ideal for us– it’s a basic necessity. An imperative! It’s like this: Regardless of what people think of our art products– ‘The greatest thing since Van Gogh!’ or ‘What the hell kind of prescription meds is this guy on?’– if they are turned off by our communication or customer service skills for whatever reason, we generally lose a sale. And then it’s plain white rice for dinner again.

Unfortunately, the laws of probability dictate that for every 100 conversations I have with other people, I’m likely to say anywhere between 10 and 99 stupid things. All of my gaffs are unintentional, I promise– regrettable slips of the tongue that occur when I’m innocently trying to fill the silence with friendly banter or keep an otherwise smooth conversation moving along at a decent pace. But why do I even bother?

The multi-lingual caving sign in the Czech Republic says it all: NO!! DON'T DO IT!

With the odds of saying something embarrassing, irrelevant, or accidentally rude looming so largely above me, why do I continue taking chances? And with so many awkward conversations already under my belt, why do I still insist on yammering on like a nincompoop? It’s basic math, people: 

Foot + Mouth – Potential Sales – Other People’s Respect/Admiration = A Regular Day at Work (aka Plain White Rice for Dinner Again)

Recent encounters I wish I could do over or erase include:

1. Hopelessly Devoted To You

Me: [glancing at the last name on a customer's credit card] Oh, your last name is Schmitzelwerft? Do you happen to know Norbert Schmitzelwerft? We went to kindergarten together!

Her: [eagerly] Yes! I’m his great, great aunt twice removed! What are the odds of running into you here? I’ll definitely tell him you said hello!

Me: [in my mind] Please, please don’t! I was five years old when we went to class together and haven’t thought about him even once since then until today. Stupid memory! Stupid recollection of stupid details! Please don’t recount this experience to Norbert and get him suspecting that I’ve been obsessing over him for all these years…

Me: [out loud] Ha ha, yes! Please do! Have a great day! [Dying inside]

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2. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

Guy: I live up island. My fiancee is an artist as well.

Me: Oh, does your fiancee work on one of the piers up island?

Guy: No, she works down in Mexico.

Me: Seasonally?

Guy: No, she lives there year-round.

Me: And you live there, too?

Guy: No… I live up island.

Me: But she’s your fiancee?

Guy: [hesitating, discretely trying to slip his credit card back into his wallet and away from my prying fingers] Yes…

Ed. note: STOP STOP STOP!! Do I really care about this guy or his fiancee? No! Does it matter that she lives in Tijuana and he lives on Vancouver Island? No! What am I, the Proper Marriage Interrogator? The Dean of Righteous Living? STOP STOP STOP TALKING!

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3. Who Even Says Things Like That?

Me: [watching a customer sign his credit card slip in the tiniest, most scrunched-up cursive ever] SO SMALL!

Ed. note: Seriously. Who talks like this? Why say *anything* if all you can manage is “SMALL!!“… to some guy… with no context whatsoever… in a slightly-crazed tone?

Customer: [silent, irritated]

Me: [backpedaling, trying to provide some context] What do those handwriting analysts say about people with tiny writing again?

Ed. note: Again! STOP. TALKING! …. BE. SILENT!

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4. to 125. I’m Sorry to Hear That. No, Really: I’m Sorry to Have Heard That.

I can’t even keep track of the number of times I’ve opened a proverbial can of worms by asking seemingly innocent questions to people. I’ve found out about illicit love affairs, deaths of cherished family members, bitter divorces, the fallout of coming out as gay to so-called “friends”, heartbreaking situations of abuse, obscure medical conditions, pain, suffering, and drippingly sad stories involving puppies simply by trying to be friendly to people. In most cases, I’m happy to have offered a sympathetic ear or a metaphorical shoulder for somebody to cry on. It’s when Marty discovers me sobbing uncontrollably over some stranger’s misfortune that it becomes a problem…

Do you have similar awkward experiences to share, dear readers?

Are you a regular foot-in-mouther like I am?

SO SMALL!

Crisis of Confidence

Typical Cancer-- hermiting myself away

I have been suffering through my Annual Existential Crisis for the past week or so.

At times, I feel completely consumed by feelings of confusion, panic, and helplessness. Who am I? Why am I here [i.e. on earth in general, not at the awesome lakeside cabin in particular, which I love]? What am I supposed to be doing with my life? Why don’t I have more direction and drive? On those brooding, sulking, heavy days, I read through other people’s blogs and make the mistake of clicking “notify me of follow-up comments” when I respond to their posts. Then I feel washed in despair, bitterness, and that most ugly of emotions– jealousy– when my inbox is flooded with comments for other people’s posts, other people’s writing, other people’s experiences.  Other people have everything figured out, I whine to my bruised, tender spirit as I pillage through the contents of my inbox indiscriminately. Savagely. DELETE, DELETE, I DON’T CARE, DELETE!!!! Everyone else has tapped into life’s most abundant of arteries and are basking in the warmth of that rich, warm flow. [Insert sad and/or pitiful emoticon here.]

The next day (or sometimes even within an hour), I sneer at myself for being so shallow. Silly girl, I seethe to my paper-thin heart– the soul that feels like it has been burnt to ash and might blow clear away from me in the most gentle of breezes– Life does not boil down to stats, subscribers, or blogging at all. Get over yourself and focus on what truly matters.

Which is?, I wonder. What truly matters? What matters most to me?

Unfortunately, because I am mired in my Annual Existential Crisis, this brings me right back to questions of Who am I? and Why am I here? Back come those brooding, sulking, heavy days– days when even the most meaningless of circumstances render me utterly crestfallen. It’s a vicious, unfriendly, and exhausting cycle, but it seems to happen, well, annually now.

I believe it boils down to our crazy summers and the highly unstructured winters that follow. From April until October every year, I have a clear sense of what needs to get done and I am confident, positive, that I can do all of those things well. I am organized. I am great with people. I am approachable, genuine, and passionate about the art business that I share with my dearest partner. I am buoyed by the receptiveness of other people to our work and feel elated with the knowledge that what I do matters. People are taken care of– thrilled with their purchases. I am nurturing them, if only indirectly. Life is busy, hectic, sleepless, and often stressful, but I love what I do. Everything is great!

Then the winter months come along, those same months that I crave and yearn for from approximately April to October every year. Heh. In the summer, I say “I can’t wait to unwind!” or “We’re looking forward to some down time!” but when I finally get there, I crack into a hundred thousand little pieces and watch helplessly from beyond myself, a scattered pile of dust. In those months, the quiet months, I struggle to rebuild myself from the summer’s leftover shards of us, we, and ours. Who am I?, I demand to know. What is my purpose in life? Sometimes I even catch myself wondering what my junior high guidance counselors would think of my career path now– as though I even cared what they suggested to me when I was twelve. (For the record: I did not. I’d make a good truck driver, you say? SCREW YOU!!) Everything is external.

During the winter months– those slippery, ambiguous, crumbly months– I find myself turning outside of myself more often than usual. I search diligently for any confirmation, however slight, that who I am and what I do still matters. Am I a writer? Do people even like my writing? Like an oft-beaten puppy who needs love but is afraid to go looking for it, I crave Marty’s approval and the validation of other people. I know in my head that this is not right. I have no problems spouting off self-help proverbs to remind myself that real acceptance comes from within. But. As sweet as these little cliched nuggets are– Trust in the Universe! Believe in yourself!– they do not foster or sustain that prized, blessed calm in the heart, much like a diet of candy cannot promote impeccable digestive health. There must be something else.

Sorry, Yogi Tea bag. I love your pithy wisdom but I need something more.

For now, I’m just letting myself be. I’m having long, soulful conversations with Marty and lying protected in his embrace, breathing in his reassuring scent of acceptance, love, and safety. I’m chanting and meditating on a daily basis. In an effort to take and accept myself on my own terms and on those terms alone, I’ve hidden my modest blog stats into a dark corner and feel content to leave those stupid things there– totally untouched and unmonitored for however long it takes to not care about them anymore. Then I’m laughing at myself for having the audacity to put such a high value on the virtual equivalent of a popularity contest in the first place. Honestly. Who should even care about hits, comments, subscribers, pingbacks, etc.? The aliens would find that mighty ludicrous, I’m sure. (When I first started blogging– way back in 2006!– I only wanted to be able to keep in touch with my friends from Calgary online. It didn’t matter to me if any of them actually commented or even read my posts. Also, I didn’t even understand the whole concept of “subscribing” until this past March. Yes, March 2011. Oh, youth!)

Anyway.

These beautiful runes were handmade and given to us as a wedding present

My runes and tarot cards from the Winter Solstice reading basically suggested that I try living life for the process of it instead of the outcome. Of course, my surprisingly linear, forward-facing mind reels at the thought of not having a solid Five Year Plan in place, but seeing as my Plan lately has consisted only of ?????s and ums, it’s probably for the best. Sure. I can try doing things just because and not worry about how everything will turn out. At least I’ll try. That sounds good.

The one advantage of having an Existential Crisis every year is that I know it will pass. It always does. I will stumble around in the darkness of my psyche for a week or two– confused, timid, insecure, and shy as can be– but I will emerge again, confident and kicking ass (or humble and zen-like– or all of those things!) when the time is right. I know in my heart that I’m where I am “supposed” to be in life right now, but it seems I just need to go through the process of re-affirming that belief for myself… again and again and again. I can do it.

Thanks for listening and for being here. xoxo

Life Without The Safety Net

Can you believe it’s already been one year since I left the comforting regularity of a bi-weekly paycheque in favour of la vie boheme? Me neither! Today– June 4th– marks the one year anniversary of my transition from regular and boring Office Job girl to Much More Interesting and Exciting Harbour Sidekick!

Every artist should have a sidekick like me. Just saying.

This calls for a celebration, ladies and gentlemen: Let us toast to the fact that I took a major (terrifying!) leap of faith last year AND I SURVIVED!! (Some might even argue that I have thrived!) Even though I didn’t want to say goodbye to my extensive alternative health care coverage and my regular acupuncture appointments, and even though it was painful to bid farewell to comprehensive dental benefits, and even though there were many nights spent fretting about income streams and cash flow, I wouldn’t hesitate to say now that I made the right choice. Hands down. I win!! This free-spirited, wonderfully unpredictable but extremely rewarding career path is most certainly the one that I am meant to be on right now.

Working the crowds at yet another art event in town

PS: This is actually one of my favourite thrift score shirts EVER. Another woman at the Value Village tried it on but discarded it, leaving it for me to snatch up. It's PERFECT!

As young and lovestruck couples often do, Marty and I dreamed about working together since we first met each other. We had no idea at the time how it would be humanly possible to do this, and we definitely didn’t imagine that he would be my “boss”. (At least I didn’t!) However– as is usually the case– the universe unfolded perfectly in its own time and even secretly stretched out an invisible safety net beneath the one I thought I was removing when I put my notice in at the Old Office Job. Everything worked out splendidly. We were safe. We managed to put dinner on the table every night, and most importantly: we didn’t tire of each other’s company, even on the days when we spent 14+ hours working together!

We see the most beautiful skies at work every day

It might not be obvious to people who don’t know us well in real life, but Marty and I are like a perfect yin and yang when it comes to our skills and talents. He’s the creative one (obviously) and the one with grand, visionary ideas. And even though I have a tendency to daydream (a lot) myself, I’m actually the nuts and bolts person in our relationship– the one who makes and updates our spreadsheets, cooks our meals, and manually calls in our credit card transactions every night. I help to bring his big plans into existence, one practical step at a time. Together, we are building Marty’s art business into a thriving creative enterprise!

Marty makes a painting. (I help with the custom framing.)

Image copyright Martin Machacek 2010

I make sure we have a decent website, blog, and social media presence. (Hello, Facebook and Twitter!)

This is the actual book I read down at the Harbour while setting up Marty's Twitter account last month (@martycultural, in case any of you are interested). Marty's quote: "She's the twit, I'm the dummy" It's funny because it's true!

Marty makes more paintings and designs classy-looking reproduction formats.

The poster version of the painting shown above. Copyright Martin Machacek

I knit his socks and whip up our soups.

He comes up with the most innovative and inventive marketing ideas ever.

I make sure we communicate these plans via our brand new e-newsletter!

This shot was either taken early in the morning or early into the Harbour season-- like in March. Normally there are people everywhere down on the causeway.

I think what I miss the most about the old Office Job is a clear beginning and end to every work day. Working in such a seasonal and weather-dependent occupation makes for very long summer hours, and it is too easy to get swept up in work-related tasks 24/7. That said, do I miss the paltry 30 minute lunch breaks at my old job? The never ending data entry? The inability to work out when my body most feels like it (i.e. at noon instead of at 5:30pm when the gym is PACKED)? Not at all. I miss my lady coworkers, but I still see them outside of the office context, so leaving my job last year was the greatest thing I’ve ever done for myself. Pats on the back all around!

The bouquet of flowers Marty bought to celebrate my last day of Office Work last year

The bouquet from my former colleagues

When’s the last time you took a gigantic leap of faith and ended up starring in the Thrilling Trapeze Show of SUCCESS (no safety net even needed)?

What’s the greatest thing you’ve done for yourself lately?   

“It’s 3 a.m., I Must Be CRAZY”

Don’t get your hopes up. Unfortunately for everybody involved, this will not be a full-fledged, honest-to-god blog post to satisfy all of your hankerings for some random Dana L. blog love. (Though believe me– I would love love love to dive right into the awesome material that my life has been giving me lately– I couldn’t make some of that stuff up!)

Alas.

I am still flooded with work-related tasks (payroll! taxes! TWITTER!!), and my poor inbox is heavy with unread posts and other boring bits of correspondence related to the ordering of thousands of envelopes and plastic sleeves. How exciting!

So it’s nearly 2 am on a Friday morning and I decided I would just stop by this old blog to reassure all of my remaining three, or two?, oh, hi mom! readers that I’m still alive and (mostly) functioning. After all, who needs sleep? Dear World: Contrary to what you have heard or feared, I am not dead– I’m just busy!

I’m looking so forward to my triumphant return to the blogosphere, when I will tell you all about my adventures with The Occult and also Countertop Sauerkraut. (For the record: they– meaning The Occult and Sauerkraut– might as well be one in the same.) Because I’m also an eternal optimist (also known as hopelessly naive), I’m hoping to at least read all the posts that I’ve missed from you. I might not be able to comment on every single post, but I miss my virtual friends (a lot!) (more than I can say!) (call me!) and I hope we can hang out as a friendly community again soon!

xoxo, Dana L., until we meet again