Hiatus...

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything. Not just here, but for myself. Sitting down to write is harder than I remember and it's taken quite a while just to get this bit down on paper, as it were.

I feel I’ve let myself go. An interesting saying that is, isn’t it? Like I had myself and then I lost me. But for a time last year I did feel like I'd lost me. Since late spring, work and home were in a state of great flux and there was a time in the summer where I was unsure that either would survive.

In late June I found out, quite by accident, that my apartment building had been sold and that the sale was going through in five days: what?! There was hardly enough time to react. My immediate concern was that the new owner would increase the very reasonable rent and get rid of the month-to-month lease. I have lived here longer than anywhere else- even my childhood home- and didn't want to move out of the place I loved.

I know what you're thinking. 'You've been living in the same place for over eighteen years on a month-to-month lease?! You couldn't just commit to signing a one-year lease?' And you're right, you're right, I know you're right. It shouldn't be such a big deal to sign a lease but I'm someone who doesn't like change and I have issues with commitment. (I know- it's an interesting combo to work with!)

When I took the apartment in my early twenties I was a working actor and needed flexibility. This apartment fit the bill. The lease was a six month lease that then transferred to a month-to-month: I could pack up and hit the road with that touring show at the drop of a hat!

A few years in, though, I realized I liked to know I could pay my bills. I gave up the financial uncertainty of theater for a steady paying day job with benefits. It seemed like the grown-up thing to do. I reasoned that I could always go back to theater- maybe when I retired.

I'd also found that doing theater until 11PM was incompatible with a day job that began at 6:30AM. I'm a night owl who needs an ample dose of sleep but I gave up the creativity and aliveness of theater to get up at the crack of dawn. When I look back at this decision it's surprising to me that I chose the day job. (What was I thinking?!) In any case, I remained in the apartment.

As an adult in the Midwest it's not the norm to live in a studio apartment. In New York City people would stand in line for the separate kitchen and dining room, the walk-in closet and the windows with a view. But to Minnesotans who have a yard, a basement and off-street, covered parking (also known as a garage) it doesn't elicit quite the same response. Uncommon though it may be I love my little home and had no intention of going anywhere, at least I hadn't planned to.

At almost the same time as the building was sold my work changed enormously. Well, that's a bit of an understatement because the place actually closed. The owner decided with profits not being what they used to be and the decline in the amount of work available, he was done. That's all fine and good for him and his early retirement but I needed a job!

No home. No work. No money. What was I going to do?

Anxious thoughts ran amok and general panic ensued. Job instability meant financial uncertainty which meant I may not be able to cover my rent which meant packing all my stuff into a storage locker and getting by with a little help from my friends and their sofas. (Breathe. Remember to breathe.)

Tension headaches were an almost daily companion. I wasn't sleeping and that never helps anything. I did my best to breathe- that's always a good place to start- and to stay present. I wanted to be calm and trust that no matter what happened outside me that all would be well within me though at times that seemed a bit of a stretch.

When I was hired eight years ago, the owner planned to retire and turn the business over to his daughter. That never happened. There was no impetus for him to leave. His daughter and I did the lioness' share of the work- which for a couple of years was an insane amount of work for two people- while he was mostly in retirement. Nice work, if you can get it.

A year ago when it seemed clear he was not going to retire the daughter opened her own business alongside her father's. Since the close of his business in July she carries on work with some of his clients. She asked me to continue working with her on a part-time, contract, commission-only basis which isn't in my comfort zone. (If this is how I'm going to get paid I might as well work in the theater, yeah?) In the short-term it has meant sporadic income and in the long-term it’s not certain there will be enough work.

As I look back over the events of the summer there were two very clear opportunities for me to have left with good reason. (I felt somehow that I had to have 'a good reason' to leave. Feeling uncomfortable or unsatisfied was not enough reason to go. Trusting my gut wasn't in the equation.) So with not one but two situations that very clearly screamed 'This place is nuts! Their behavior is crazy!! Get out now!!!' I stayed.

I did not foresee the relationship between the dad and the daughter breaking down completely but over the years I did watch it decay. Though I couldn't imagine how it would end well, I stayed. I felt unclear about what I should do next. I didn't know where else to go, so I stayed. Why, oh why did I stay?! The short answer is inertia. The long answer is iiiiinnnnerrrrrrtiiiiiaaaaaaaa!

But, if I'm honest with myself, and with you, the other answer is fear. It's neither easy nor comfortable to admit this. I've been living with fear and in fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not finding another job. Fear of finding another job less desirable than this one. Fear of finding one better than this.

After surviving cancer I thought I was done living in fear. (I mean, c'mon, how much scarier does it get than a diagnosis of cancer?) Through that unexpected journey I'd found a place of peace inside me that could not be shaken. I'd found a new freedom and ease in letting go and trusting that all would be well. My mantra was "I live in an abundant world. Everything I need will be there for me when I need it." and no kidding it was. And it is, when I connect with that peace.

But I wasn't in the same frame of mind this past year as when I was diagnosed. I was wracked with anxiety: my job and home were critical to my survival! How could I live without them? I needed these things!!

I needed things? That’s where I got tripped up and I know that--- I knew that!--- but without a clear idea of what to do next I felt I needed to hold on to what I had. I don’t need things; things aren’t what make me. With or without them I’m still me but that’s what fear connects to: I was afraid I'd loose everything- I’d loose me- so I held on very tightly to what I had.

In need of more steady income I turned to work I did in my post-college days as a pastry chef (yes, this was the 6:30AM day job). When I left there in my late twenties, exhausted and with tendonitis in both arms, I said it was 'work for young people'. How I thought I could return there now in my early forties in the worst shape of my life and still do the work is something I didn't put much thought into. I needed to pay the bills and this work would pay more than minimum wage. That was enough for me.

Getting hired was one of those fortuitous connections: the manager was a delightful woman whom I had trained in before I left- no kidding! Within her department she had an upcoming maternity leave, a departure and the holidays to cover. She needed someone who could quickly step into the work and was delighted to hear from me. She also remembered what beautiful cakes I made. And I did make beautiful cakes. I really did. So with just three retraining-in sessions I was back.

It’s been interesting and surprising how muscles remember what to do. My brain may have forgotten what physical work it was but my body quickly recalled the required movements. At first I was a bit rusty but as my actions became more fluid my speed improved. This is my 'you're going to get back into shape whether you like it or not' job and I must say I don't always like it but I am getting stronger.

Like many people you may be thinking: 'Being a pastry chef would be a lot of fun! I make cakes at home and it's not that hard.' And that's true: making one cake isn't that hard. But making thirty, sixty or, if you're really in the groove, eighty cakes in a shift is quite another thing. This is production bakery work and it is a world far removed from pleasure baking. It's all about getting the product out quickly and that is exhausting.

The shift is spent standing and lifting. Lifting cakes on trays. Lifting industrial-sized bowls of frosting (think super-SUPER-sized Kitchen Aid mixers). The fudge or whipped cream frosting (I know I just said whipped cream but trust me, a gallon or more of whipped cream in a large metal bowl is not light...) gets applied to multiple cakes. Wrists, forearms, biceps, shoulders, back and legs often remain in one position doing the same motion for hours. It's very physically demanding. I now take two Aleve before every shift and one the next day.

The return to manual labor and the crush of the holiday season cake-making was physically exhausting. The drama and anxiety surrounding the summer's events was emotionally exhausting. It's no wonder I've been wiped out and hanging by a thread! Restoration was required, but how?

That's a good question: how do you find your way back to yourself? Well, I've done my best to be gentle and kind with myself. I needed time alone to recharge my batteries so I made room for quiet and rest. Then I started inching toward other things I liked to do: writing, reading and watching period dramas on PBS. It's been these things, along with that gentle friend Time, which have helped me settle back into myself.

And just in the past few weeks I've felt my energy returning. That's been a lovely feeling. 'Oh hello again', I say to myself. 'It's so good to see you!' And it's good to see you, too.

With peace,
Karen