Let's talk about Resumes. I hate them. I hate writing them. I hate reading them. They are boring, full of half-truths and bloated with gross exaggerations (and those are the good ones) The language is stiff and the buzzwords are noxious (buzzwords are the latest "in" words you need to know in order to impress a potential recruiter. Using these words shows how current and trendy you are).
Unfortunately, you need a resume. Actually you need more than one.
When you are between 21-40, your resume is kind of like your report card. It shows what you've done, how much effort you've expended doing it and allows you to brag about any rewards you have accumulated for your efforts. This is good. This works for most people. However, after say, 45, this report card requires (actually it BEGS for) some editing and finessing to keep you in the "yes' or 'maybe' pile of the HR person who is screening applicants. Proper editing and finessing takes skill. You either have it or you don't. And if you are looking to change professions - which many midlifers are doing - you really really need to know how to "fix" your resume or resign yourself to a life of rejection letters.
Although I often earn extra money writing, and even though my former marketing job was 70% writing - I am not a good resume writer. I lack the necessary bloviating skills I guess. But, I faced my biggest resume challenge when I left marketing, dabbled in odd jobs, and then got a Masters in something unrelated to anything I'd ever done before. Add to that the fact that I spent less than a year in my "new" field (counseling) and never acquired the hours needed for my license. This was pretty hard to capture succinctly (and sanely) on a one or two page resume. I needed help.
There are many resume writing services out there. The web is full of choices. I wanted to stay local. Craigslist is full of resume writers...but I have issues with Craigslist. I looked and looked until I found the web page of a local woman who boasted 29+ years of experience and an impressive list of professional accomplishments. I emailed her. She called me back. I'll call her Sylvia...
As briefly as I could, I explained my dilemma. She got it. This was a good start. She said that what I needed was a "Functional" resume. This, she explained, worked best for people who were making drastic career changes. We made an appointment to meet. Before ending our conversation I asked, "What do you charge?". "$500," she said. Gulp.
I met with Sylvia on a Sunday afternoon at her home/office. She was an older woman - late seventies, maybe early eighties, bright red hair, thin and frail but with a very commanding presence. Her office walls were full of photos of herself with a variety of Democratic politicians...at least we were on the same page politically. After the normal chit chat she ran me through a very long list of questions about all of the jobs I'd had in my lifetime. The questioning continued for over an hour. Sylvia was thorough.
When we were done talking about my past professional life - she started in on what she saw before her. Me. I was wearing jeans, a red sweater and carrying a red and black purse. "Don't," she said looking me up and down, "don't wear red to an interview." Huh? "Okay...but what's wrong with red?" I asked. "It's too loud. Wear dark, sedate colors."she responded. "And," she continued,"tone down that East Coast stuff." Huh? I asked for an explanation. "You're too east coast, " she replied, referring to my personality, "this is the Midwest, tone it down. You'll scare people." She made other suggestions too, "Wear nude stockings, no tint, Don't play with your hair - it's distracting. Wear low heels. Cross your legs at the ankle and sit up straight." (I've never been to Catholic school but this is how I'd always imagined the nuns to be - and Sylvia was Jewish!). In a nutshell I was being told to re-invent myself into the stereotypical Midwest woman (whom I, incidentally, have never met). In order to succeed I would have to adopt someone else's personality, wear someone else's clothes and attached sharp objects to my knees to prevent myself from crossing them.
"When I am done with this resume, " she announced, "you will be surprised at how positively people will respond. You will get interviews. I have a good track record."
I wrote out a check for $500. She told me that for $15 more she could do something "amazing" with my resume. She hit a button on her computer, then hit the print button and produced a dummy resume with a thin black frame around it. wow. I told her I would pass on this extra feature..I didn't tell her that I, too, could hit the "box" icon in Word and "frame" my resume for NOTHING!!!!
Five days later a "proof" arrived in my email. Hmm. Well, I wasn't overly impressed but this was just a draft. I made changes - a lot of them. (Seems she didn't quite 'get' what I done in my jobs. Some of the things she had in the draft were totally untrue. Hmmm) I sent it back. Twenty-four hours later the final product arrived. Hmmm.
A functional resume lists your experiences and skills in clusters. So in my case, everything related to marketing was in one cluster, everything related to counseling and elderly issues was in another. There was even a cluster for jobs I'd had back when dinosaurs roamed the earth - but these lacked details. There were no dates..nothing that could provide clues to my increasing age.
I have to admit - this resume confused me. It did not impress me. I could not understand how it would impress anyone or how it could open any doors. But, I reasoned, I'd been unable to write one myself so maybe this would do the trick.
Around this time an old boss of mine called me about a job opening he'd come across. He gave me the name of the person to contact (a headhunter) and I called her and later sent my resume. Shortly after that I received a call from an independent consultant who was screening the applicants. We arranged to meet at a Starbucks. (Let's see caffeine plus my east coast overwhelming persona...make that a decaf please) We had a great meeting. She provided some useful insight, thought I'd be perfect for the job, warned me about the person I'd be interviewing with and then...."So, let's talk about your resume, "she said. "It's awful. Let me help you fix it."
Sigh.
Over the next few days we doctored my $500 resume so that people who might look at it would be able to understand it. In the end it looked a lot like my old (pre $500) resume but did a better job of taming my wild career swings. Turns out that the consultant also wrote resumes. Her normal fee, $150. She helped me with mine for nothing. That's how bad it was.
I later learned that employers don't like Functional Resumes. Some employers find them irritating. Recruiters and headhunters don't like them either. Neither do people in conservative fields such as banking, finance and law. These resumes are often not allowed on online job boards. Who knew?
Well, now you know.
Lesson learned: It may be best to buy or borrow some resume writing books or look up resume writing tips and examples of resumes online. If your resume is anywhere near as diverse as mine - or if you are wanting to make a drastic career change and feel you need help, shop quality AND price. Ask friends. Ask employment agencies. Please don't ask Sylvia.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tell me about a time....Beware of Behavioral Interviewing
After my "retirement" from life in corporate health care I spent several years trying on new careers. Oh alright, some of the things I tried weren't exactly careers, but they were new. And odd. And not very good. Going back to school for a Masters didn't work well either. I got the Masters but couldn't enter the field. What to do now?
"Go back into marketing," friends suggested, "You were so good at it." But I HATED it - why, at this critical point in my life would I go back to something I hated? (Money maybe...money is nice...) Besides, I reasoned, I had been out of the marketplace for lots of years. Things had changed. Technology for one. I was at least ten years behind on my technical know-how. I knew nothing about managing web pages, I was computer literate at a first grade level (and proud of that accomplishment) Plus, I had no more contacts in the field. They'd all moved on, retired or were out doing the same thing I was doing - searching for meaning. The market had moved on without me. (Buh bye!!) I was really too old to turn back. AND I didn't want the pressure or the responsibility. But I did need some money.
I reviewed my professional accomplishments and identified some types of jobs for which I might be suited. I created five versions of my resume and started posting on job sites and responding to openings I found through other sources. I scored a few interviews...well, not exactly interviews, they were more like pre-interviews. Conducted on the phone by young ( very young girls named Jessie or Sierra)) HR staff. If these guys liked you you could go on to the next level (double Jeopardy maybe?)
During these pre-interviews I had more than my share of questions about why I had left marketing. I quickly realized that many young people have no concept of career burnout. Nor do they understand the midlife need to seek out work that is more meaningful. Answers of that nature (at least from the folks I spoke with) were met with dead silence. The HR kidlets appeared to be stuck on the issue of someone leaving a high profile, good paying, highly sought after job. There did not seem to be an acceptable reason for such a radical decision. My answers were not sufficient. The only 'burnout" these kids had ever experienced was an uncharged Ipod. The only "meaningfulness" they could connect to were the words of a song. I never did find an acceptable response to these questions. But, these question were nothing compared to the next ones.
Welcome to Behavioral Interviewing. If it has been a while since you've had a bona fide job interview let me be the first to tell you - things have changed. I used to hire people all the time. I looked for a good personality fit, the right skills, the most appropriate experience and often I gave them an assignment. Of course I checked references and all that "have to do" stuff. But I hired by instinct. I was only wrong once in twenty-some years. But somewhere in the past 10 years someone invented a new way of interviewing...and if you are not prepared for it, it can totally throw you off balance.
Behavioral interviewing is sold to HR professionals as a sure-fire way to get the best facts you can get in order to make a good hiring decision. Sounds good. There's more. Behavioral interviewing is said to be an accurate way to predict future behavior based upon past performance in similar situations. For example, where in the past someone would ask you to talk about the kinds of things you did for company X, in a behavioral interview the question would be more specific, "Tell me about a time that you had a tight deadline and knew you weren't going to meet it." If you are able to answer that question, the skilled interviewer (and they aren't all skilled) would probe your response further and further. It's kind of like being on trial - without any legal representation.
Behavioral interviewing is said to measure critical thinking (yeah, it's critical that you are able to think of answers to these questions), willingness to learn, self-confidence, teamwork, and professionalism. It is also said to identify those of us who are self-starters (as opposed to those who need someone to crank them up). I'm sure there's more. Most of these questions start with the words. "Tell me about a time.." or "Describe a situation in which ...". The problem here (at least for me) was that I consistently had trouble thinking (or remembering) situations that related. Heck, I had 25 years of work experience and darn few of the questions were relevant. (Or my memory was shot). I totally blew my first two interviews (one on the phone, one in person).
As is my pattern, I decided to learn as much as I could about this "technique" since everyone was using it. (And I mean everyone). I went online and found tons of semi-helpful information. Pages and pages of potential questions and even hints for what each type of question was really looking for. There were even websites that suggested the best responses (without the specifics).
Let's take the statement/question I used previously:"Tell me about a time that you had a tight deadline and you knew you were not going to meet it." This is a LOADED question. Do you want to admit that you EVER missed a deadline? Will they believe you if you say you've never missed a deadline? And if you do fess up to missing a deadline what does that say about you???? This is a perilous journey. Whatever you answer you can be sure there are several more probing questions designed to uncover the true you (you lying scoundrel). Because this was one of the first questions I was ever asked I specifically remember my response. It was. "Well, in my department I set deadlines and real deadlines. My hope was to have the project done by deadline number one - and it always had to totally be done by deadline number two. So I never really missed a deadline." Did this tell them I was devious, a liar, too clever for my own skin? Perhaps I was unmanageable? I'll never know. I didn't get the job.
My 34 year old nephew tells me that the "best" answer would have been something like this: "I informed my supervisor and everyone else who had a stake in the project and told them my plans and gave a time by which the project would be done." Now, If I had said this (or even thought about it) it would have been a lie. I set my deadlines, I was in charge, and I never had to answer to anyone but myself. If my nephew is right (and he probably is) then it is not really about the prospective employer assessing how I would respond in a similar situation; it is more about how well I can think on my feet to conjure up the answer that will lead the interviewer to believe something about me that may not be true!
(Oh, did I tell you the interviewer scores your answers on some sort of score sheet. I don't think they throw out the highest and lowest scores... )
Although these questions are allegedly designed to make it harder for the interviewee to make up responses (yea, right), when faced with no response or a perfectly plausible (and sort of made-up) one I always chose the latter. Perhaps this was transparent. I didn't think so. I guess I was wrong.
The questions work best for people in left brain jobs. In fact they were probably designed by left brain people. If you are a right brained, creative, free spirit, you will learn to loathe Behavioral Interviewing as much as I do. If you are an accountant, engineer, computer programmer, chemist or bookeeper you will have no problems.
In any case, if you are out in the world for the first time in a long time, over 45 and looking for a job spend some significant time researching Behavioral Interviewing questions. There are some great websites. you can download hundreds of questions and try to imagine how you would answer them. It is said to be hard to prepare answers...but some kind of preparation is helpful. And good luck...you'll need it.
Lesson learned: Start your own business and bypass all this crap.
"Go back into marketing," friends suggested, "You were so good at it." But I HATED it - why, at this critical point in my life would I go back to something I hated? (Money maybe...money is nice...) Besides, I reasoned, I had been out of the marketplace for lots of years. Things had changed. Technology for one. I was at least ten years behind on my technical know-how. I knew nothing about managing web pages, I was computer literate at a first grade level (and proud of that accomplishment) Plus, I had no more contacts in the field. They'd all moved on, retired or were out doing the same thing I was doing - searching for meaning. The market had moved on without me. (Buh bye!!) I was really too old to turn back. AND I didn't want the pressure or the responsibility. But I did need some money.
I reviewed my professional accomplishments and identified some types of jobs for which I might be suited. I created five versions of my resume and started posting on job sites and responding to openings I found through other sources. I scored a few interviews...well, not exactly interviews, they were more like pre-interviews. Conducted on the phone by young ( very young girls named Jessie or Sierra)) HR staff. If these guys liked you you could go on to the next level (double Jeopardy maybe?)
During these pre-interviews I had more than my share of questions about why I had left marketing. I quickly realized that many young people have no concept of career burnout. Nor do they understand the midlife need to seek out work that is more meaningful. Answers of that nature (at least from the folks I spoke with) were met with dead silence. The HR kidlets appeared to be stuck on the issue of someone leaving a high profile, good paying, highly sought after job. There did not seem to be an acceptable reason for such a radical decision. My answers were not sufficient. The only 'burnout" these kids had ever experienced was an uncharged Ipod. The only "meaningfulness" they could connect to were the words of a song. I never did find an acceptable response to these questions. But, these question were nothing compared to the next ones.
Welcome to Behavioral Interviewing. If it has been a while since you've had a bona fide job interview let me be the first to tell you - things have changed. I used to hire people all the time. I looked for a good personality fit, the right skills, the most appropriate experience and often I gave them an assignment. Of course I checked references and all that "have to do" stuff. But I hired by instinct. I was only wrong once in twenty-some years. But somewhere in the past 10 years someone invented a new way of interviewing...and if you are not prepared for it, it can totally throw you off balance.
Behavioral interviewing is sold to HR professionals as a sure-fire way to get the best facts you can get in order to make a good hiring decision. Sounds good. There's more. Behavioral interviewing is said to be an accurate way to predict future behavior based upon past performance in similar situations. For example, where in the past someone would ask you to talk about the kinds of things you did for company X, in a behavioral interview the question would be more specific, "Tell me about a time that you had a tight deadline and knew you weren't going to meet it." If you are able to answer that question, the skilled interviewer (and they aren't all skilled) would probe your response further and further. It's kind of like being on trial - without any legal representation.
Behavioral interviewing is said to measure critical thinking (yeah, it's critical that you are able to think of answers to these questions), willingness to learn, self-confidence, teamwork, and professionalism. It is also said to identify those of us who are self-starters (as opposed to those who need someone to crank them up). I'm sure there's more. Most of these questions start with the words. "Tell me about a time.." or "Describe a situation in which ...". The problem here (at least for me) was that I consistently had trouble thinking (or remembering) situations that related. Heck, I had 25 years of work experience and darn few of the questions were relevant. (Or my memory was shot). I totally blew my first two interviews (one on the phone, one in person).
As is my pattern, I decided to learn as much as I could about this "technique" since everyone was using it. (And I mean everyone). I went online and found tons of semi-helpful information. Pages and pages of potential questions and even hints for what each type of question was really looking for. There were even websites that suggested the best responses (without the specifics).
Let's take the statement/question I used previously:"Tell me about a time that you had a tight deadline and you knew you were not going to meet it." This is a LOADED question. Do you want to admit that you EVER missed a deadline? Will they believe you if you say you've never missed a deadline? And if you do fess up to missing a deadline what does that say about you???? This is a perilous journey. Whatever you answer you can be sure there are several more probing questions designed to uncover the true you (you lying scoundrel). Because this was one of the first questions I was ever asked I specifically remember my response. It was. "Well, in my department I set deadlines and real deadlines. My hope was to have the project done by deadline number one - and it always had to totally be done by deadline number two. So I never really missed a deadline." Did this tell them I was devious, a liar, too clever for my own skin? Perhaps I was unmanageable? I'll never know. I didn't get the job.
My 34 year old nephew tells me that the "best" answer would have been something like this: "I informed my supervisor and everyone else who had a stake in the project and told them my plans and gave a time by which the project would be done." Now, If I had said this (or even thought about it) it would have been a lie. I set my deadlines, I was in charge, and I never had to answer to anyone but myself. If my nephew is right (and he probably is) then it is not really about the prospective employer assessing how I would respond in a similar situation; it is more about how well I can think on my feet to conjure up the answer that will lead the interviewer to believe something about me that may not be true!
(Oh, did I tell you the interviewer scores your answers on some sort of score sheet. I don't think they throw out the highest and lowest scores... )
Although these questions are allegedly designed to make it harder for the interviewee to make up responses (yea, right), when faced with no response or a perfectly plausible (and sort of made-up) one I always chose the latter. Perhaps this was transparent. I didn't think so. I guess I was wrong.
The questions work best for people in left brain jobs. In fact they were probably designed by left brain people. If you are a right brained, creative, free spirit, you will learn to loathe Behavioral Interviewing as much as I do. If you are an accountant, engineer, computer programmer, chemist or bookeeper you will have no problems.
In any case, if you are out in the world for the first time in a long time, over 45 and looking for a job spend some significant time researching Behavioral Interviewing questions. There are some great websites. you can download hundreds of questions and try to imagine how you would answer them. It is said to be hard to prepare answers...but some kind of preparation is helpful. And good luck...you'll need it.
Lesson learned: Start your own business and bypass all this crap.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Eleven Months in a new career
Some weeks after receiving my MS in Counseling, I set off to find the perfect job. The one that would help me accrue all the hours (3000) I would need to become licensed. Undaunted by the doom and gloom marketplace that was forecast by a professor, I set out to prove him wrong. Damn, I was going to get a counseling job and I was going to move forward.
I quickly discovered that the very act of job-hunting had significantly changed. A lot of years had passed since I'd actually applied for a job. I scanned the papers. Mighty thin pickings. Someone suggested I go online. For me, "online" was where you went to shop, or play games or send emails. Not to job hunt. So I ventured into the murky waters of Monster, Career Builder, and a host of other online employment sites. It felt odd. I had to learn a whole bunch of new things. (I will discuss online job searches in another blog) There was something wrong about converting my beautifully arranged resume to "text" and sending it off into cyberspace. But I did it. I hated it. And I got a nibble. Yea me!
I was invited to interview at a clinic located 30 minutes from my home. They had a part time opening in drug and alcohol - working with juveniles who were being monitored by the local social service agencies (actually most were being monitored by probation officers). I would be a "mentor" (another not-me job?) In addition, I would be conducting a drug and alcohol group at the juvenile detention center as well as a daily adolescent group at the clinic and an adult group at night. Oh well, I said, it was just an interview. I didn't have to take the job.
I took the job. To this day I don't know why. Although I was more than honest with my soon-to-be supervisor about my low interest in working with kids -especially adolescents - he was unmoved. He loved my personality. I would be a "great fit". Plus, he added, other internal jobs were always popping up. (Note: There is always a reason for this...)
Initially, this job was hell. I spent several afternoons a week literally babysitting teenaged kids who were so "out there" even I couldn't relate. At best they were charming and manipulative. At worst they were sullen and unresponsive. I had to socialize with them - be a 'buddy'. I had to take them places - bowling, burgers, shopping, arcades (EGADS what was I doing here???)they didn't want it and I had to do it and they had to be there. To this day I cannot imagine who conceived of a program like this. I fail to see how it did these poor kids any good. They were miserable and unhappy. They especially hated the part where I randomly pee-tested them. (I didn't exactly like this part either). Eventually this part of my job faded away. The grant that funded it ran out. Whew.
That left the drug and alcohol group at the jail and the daily groups at the clinic. The jail was the most challenging...and the most intimidating (at least at first). Each time I went there I imagined myself taking the final walk down the long corridor that would lead to my untimely death. I got frisked and scanned by guards. The groups were monitored on a closed circuit system. And if I needed help (gulp) all I had to do was knock real hard on the bullet proof glass and someone would come. Eventually. (I only had to do this twice)
I quickly learned that my group time was the only time during the day that the kids were allowed to socialize - or even talk to each other. You can imagine how wound up they were. It took me weeks to get any kind of rhythm and approach that would reach them in any way. Forget about getting through to them about the evils of drug and alcohol use. Most of these kids were long time users. They knew everything. They had no intention of quitting or changing their ways. Many of them confessed to having parents who either a) smoked weed with them or b) didn't see what the "big deal" was about drug use. (And we punish the kids... They spoke lovingly of drinking bottles of cough syrup, smoking sage (yes, sage), swallowing cold pills and raiding their parents' medicine cabinets. They did it to escape from lives they said were "boring". They didn't mind being in jail. For many it was a way of life and it beat being at home.
My clinic group was not much better. We shared three hours a day, four days a week. It was grueling for all of us.
In the evening I ran a group for people who had been arrested for drinking and driving. These groups were great. Not perfect, but so much better than the kids' groups.
The bright spot was a group I co-facilitated and later facilitated by myself. Men. Domestic violence perpetrators. These weren't the run-of-the mill wife beaters. They were basically guys who in a moment of anger yelled too loud and scared their wives, or threw their spouses cell phone against a wall...stuff like that. Coming to the domestic violence group was an alternative to jail. It may seem odd to put a woman in charge of a group like this but it worked. For them and for me. (Really, I so didn't like working with kids that these guys were a treat!!) It did not take me long to figure out that their basic issue was that they simply did NOT UNDERSTAND WOMEN. I spent thirty minutes of every group teaching them about women. They brought questions...they had so many. It would have been a great reality show.
I had settled into this routine. I was content and I was racking up my hours. Then it all fell apart. My boss left and in his place - the bitch from hell. It was her first management job (it showed) and she had a lot of ideas about how the clinic should be run. She had no people skills, a bad attitude and no ability to compromise with anyone. We hated her. (I think I still do). I tolerated her dictatorship, her outrageous demands and her smugness. (Oooo I detect some bitterness here). She got angry each time a client said something nice about me. And twice she went ballistic when clients who were being discharged brought me goodbye gifts (accepting gifts is flat out unethical,not allowed, not encouraged. But they liked me, they wanted to give me something and they refused to take the gifts back. I gave both gifts - one was flowers and one was candy- to my supervisor. Each time she lectured me about the "policy". I knew the policy...the gifts were not my fault) Did I need this crap from her? Hell no.
Adding to this unfortunate turn of events was a long daily commute on two-lane dark country roads (in all kinds of horrible weather), getting home at 11:00pm (on a good day), and working far more hours than I was being paid for. I weighed my options. Was it worth staying? Could I get my hours somewhere else - maybe closer to home? I resigned.
That was the last time I worked as a counselor. Two years have passed and there haven't been any more opportunities. My professor was right. Itishard to get your 3000 hours. I put in 1184 hours. They aren't good for much.
And so it goes. My big plan for reinvention was cut short..and for all intents and purposes is dead. I guess I won't be supporting my husband and myself in this "dream" retirement job. Another stab at repurposing myself that didn't quite work. I guess I have to keep trying.
But what to try?
The life lesson here: Ask yourself what you are willing to endure to achieve a dream. If you find yourself waffling when the going gets tough - maybe you don't really want the thing you are pursuing.
I quickly discovered that the very act of job-hunting had significantly changed. A lot of years had passed since I'd actually applied for a job. I scanned the papers. Mighty thin pickings. Someone suggested I go online. For me, "online" was where you went to shop, or play games or send emails. Not to job hunt. So I ventured into the murky waters of Monster, Career Builder, and a host of other online employment sites. It felt odd. I had to learn a whole bunch of new things. (I will discuss online job searches in another blog) There was something wrong about converting my beautifully arranged resume to "text" and sending it off into cyberspace. But I did it. I hated it. And I got a nibble. Yea me!
I was invited to interview at a clinic located 30 minutes from my home. They had a part time opening in drug and alcohol - working with juveniles who were being monitored by the local social service agencies (actually most were being monitored by probation officers). I would be a "mentor" (another not-me job?) In addition, I would be conducting a drug and alcohol group at the juvenile detention center as well as a daily adolescent group at the clinic and an adult group at night. Oh well, I said, it was just an interview. I didn't have to take the job.
I took the job. To this day I don't know why. Although I was more than honest with my soon-to-be supervisor about my low interest in working with kids -especially adolescents - he was unmoved. He loved my personality. I would be a "great fit". Plus, he added, other internal jobs were always popping up. (Note: There is always a reason for this...)
Initially, this job was hell. I spent several afternoons a week literally babysitting teenaged kids who were so "out there" even I couldn't relate. At best they were charming and manipulative. At worst they were sullen and unresponsive. I had to socialize with them - be a 'buddy'. I had to take them places - bowling, burgers, shopping, arcades (EGADS what was I doing here???)they didn't want it and I had to do it and they had to be there. To this day I cannot imagine who conceived of a program like this. I fail to see how it did these poor kids any good. They were miserable and unhappy. They especially hated the part where I randomly pee-tested them. (I didn't exactly like this part either). Eventually this part of my job faded away. The grant that funded it ran out. Whew.
That left the drug and alcohol group at the jail and the daily groups at the clinic. The jail was the most challenging...and the most intimidating (at least at first). Each time I went there I imagined myself taking the final walk down the long corridor that would lead to my untimely death. I got frisked and scanned by guards. The groups were monitored on a closed circuit system. And if I needed help (gulp) all I had to do was knock real hard on the bullet proof glass and someone would come. Eventually. (I only had to do this twice)
I quickly learned that my group time was the only time during the day that the kids were allowed to socialize - or even talk to each other. You can imagine how wound up they were. It took me weeks to get any kind of rhythm and approach that would reach them in any way. Forget about getting through to them about the evils of drug and alcohol use. Most of these kids were long time users. They knew everything. They had no intention of quitting or changing their ways. Many of them confessed to having parents who either a) smoked weed with them or b) didn't see what the "big deal" was about drug use. (And we punish the kids... They spoke lovingly of drinking bottles of cough syrup, smoking sage (yes, sage), swallowing cold pills and raiding their parents' medicine cabinets. They did it to escape from lives they said were "boring". They didn't mind being in jail. For many it was a way of life and it beat being at home.
My clinic group was not much better. We shared three hours a day, four days a week. It was grueling for all of us.
In the evening I ran a group for people who had been arrested for drinking and driving. These groups were great. Not perfect, but so much better than the kids' groups.
The bright spot was a group I co-facilitated and later facilitated by myself. Men. Domestic violence perpetrators. These weren't the run-of-the mill wife beaters. They were basically guys who in a moment of anger yelled too loud and scared their wives, or threw their spouses cell phone against a wall...stuff like that. Coming to the domestic violence group was an alternative to jail. It may seem odd to put a woman in charge of a group like this but it worked. For them and for me. (Really, I so didn't like working with kids that these guys were a treat!!) It did not take me long to figure out that their basic issue was that they simply did NOT UNDERSTAND WOMEN. I spent thirty minutes of every group teaching them about women. They brought questions...they had so many. It would have been a great reality show.
I had settled into this routine. I was content and I was racking up my hours. Then it all fell apart. My boss left and in his place - the bitch from hell. It was her first management job (it showed) and she had a lot of ideas about how the clinic should be run. She had no people skills, a bad attitude and no ability to compromise with anyone. We hated her. (I think I still do). I tolerated her dictatorship, her outrageous demands and her smugness. (Oooo I detect some bitterness here). She got angry each time a client said something nice about me. And twice she went ballistic when clients who were being discharged brought me goodbye gifts (accepting gifts is flat out unethical,not allowed, not encouraged. But they liked me, they wanted to give me something and they refused to take the gifts back. I gave both gifts - one was flowers and one was candy- to my supervisor. Each time she lectured me about the "policy". I knew the policy...the gifts were not my fault) Did I need this crap from her? Hell no.
Adding to this unfortunate turn of events was a long daily commute on two-lane dark country roads (in all kinds of horrible weather), getting home at 11:00pm (on a good day), and working far more hours than I was being paid for. I weighed my options. Was it worth staying? Could I get my hours somewhere else - maybe closer to home? I resigned.
That was the last time I worked as a counselor. Two years have passed and there haven't been any more opportunities. My professor was right. Itishard to get your 3000 hours. I put in 1184 hours. They aren't good for much.
And so it goes. My big plan for reinvention was cut short..and for all intents and purposes is dead. I guess I won't be supporting my husband and myself in this "dream" retirement job. Another stab at repurposing myself that didn't quite work. I guess I have to keep trying.
But what to try?
The life lesson here: Ask yourself what you are willing to endure to achieve a dream. If you find yourself waffling when the going gets tough - maybe you don't really want the thing you are pursuing.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Reconnecting...for what it's worth
Several years ago I found myself scanning the pages of EBAY in search of - of all things- a Tiny Tears doll. Not just any Tiny Tears..It had to be exactly like the one I adored as a child. The body was rubber, the head was wood, her hair was painted on the wood...and of course, there was that silly hole in her butt cheek where she would "pee". Not exactly anatomically correct - but in the fifties no one questioned these things. (If they had placed her "pee hole" in the proper place she would have been banned. In the fifties it was okay to pee from your butt cheek.) I found a few dolls that looked right at prices that looked wrong. I didn't buy one...I might someday..but I learned that there were lots and lots of us out there looking for our favorite childhood toys. Women and men.
And that's not all we look for...we look for each other. Old friends, old loves, old teachers. There is suddenly some unexplainable need to stop what we're doing and look back. Maybe we want to find out if the once 'oh so popular'cheerleaders are now big and fat. Maybe we want to see if our old boyfriends wives (the ones they left us for) are still in the picture or have become lumpy and ugly. (This lumpy/fat and ugly theme is only relevant if you yourself have aged well). Maybe we are still looking for some closure or vindication or even revenge. Or maybe we just need to hear a familiar voice from a less stressful time in our lives. Let's face it, we've reached an age where people we know are actually dying. We may want to see who is still out there and breathing. Whatever our reasons for seeking out things and people from our past we seem to go at it with fervor.
I have been "found" at least six times. Twice by the same person. Once by my best friend from high school whom I had last seen at my wedding right after college. It's fun to be found. Having her find me (what would we do without GOOGLE??) was actually joyous (a word I rarely use). Being found is like being a rare fossil in an archaeological dig. The word will spread that you have been located and others will seek you out.
In the case of my friend a mere email or a few phone calls were not enough. We needed to physically lay eyes on each other. We needed to hug!! As a result of being rediscovered, three more friends joined our merry little group. We planned to meet. We went to VEGAS!
Now imagine that 35 years have passed since you last saw someone. Are you going to recognize her? Is she going to recognize you? Will this be traumatic? Luckily, in this particular instance time had been more than kind to all of us. We each looked like computer-aged versions of our former selves - but all-in-all, pretty damn good. And we had a great time. We reminisced, caught up, talked about unearthing more old friends to join us "next time". We looked at old pictures and, shopped, shopped, shopped. No gambling. Just shopping, eating, laughing and a show. Three perfect days. Then we all scattered to our various homes and we haven't seen each other since. There were some random emails, some half-hearted attempts to stay in-touch but a lot was happening and we slipped apart again. Two of them still send holiday cards. I never send holiday cards but I sure am glad to get theirs.
Most recently there have been several Facebook "reunions". People our age forming high school class groups on Facebook and inviting former classmates to join. I must get a few invitations each day to become a "friend" of____________. I often don't even remember who some these people were. Did I ever talk to them? Did they talk to me? I cannot locate a copy of my High School yearbook so I have a lot of diffculty responding to a friend request. What they heck, I never was that friendly anyway.
It's been the same with the other people who've found me. The initial rush. The flurry of emails or phone calls. And then we're done. It's a little bit like opening the door to your kid's room late at night just to hear the sound of their breathing. It's enough. It's just enough. Connections count. Especially now.
What does this mean: Respect that part of you...the part that needs to go back. In some strange way it is life affirming. It says "I still matter". It feels good to matter.
And that's not all we look for...we look for each other. Old friends, old loves, old teachers. There is suddenly some unexplainable need to stop what we're doing and look back. Maybe we want to find out if the once 'oh so popular'cheerleaders are now big and fat. Maybe we want to see if our old boyfriends wives (the ones they left us for) are still in the picture or have become lumpy and ugly. (This lumpy/fat and ugly theme is only relevant if you yourself have aged well). Maybe we are still looking for some closure or vindication or even revenge. Or maybe we just need to hear a familiar voice from a less stressful time in our lives. Let's face it, we've reached an age where people we know are actually dying. We may want to see who is still out there and breathing. Whatever our reasons for seeking out things and people from our past we seem to go at it with fervor.
I have been "found" at least six times. Twice by the same person. Once by my best friend from high school whom I had last seen at my wedding right after college. It's fun to be found. Having her find me (what would we do without GOOGLE??) was actually joyous (a word I rarely use). Being found is like being a rare fossil in an archaeological dig. The word will spread that you have been located and others will seek you out.
In the case of my friend a mere email or a few phone calls were not enough. We needed to physically lay eyes on each other. We needed to hug!! As a result of being rediscovered, three more friends joined our merry little group. We planned to meet. We went to VEGAS!
Now imagine that 35 years have passed since you last saw someone. Are you going to recognize her? Is she going to recognize you? Will this be traumatic? Luckily, in this particular instance time had been more than kind to all of us. We each looked like computer-aged versions of our former selves - but all-in-all, pretty damn good. And we had a great time. We reminisced, caught up, talked about unearthing more old friends to join us "next time". We looked at old pictures and, shopped, shopped, shopped. No gambling. Just shopping, eating, laughing and a show. Three perfect days. Then we all scattered to our various homes and we haven't seen each other since. There were some random emails, some half-hearted attempts to stay in-touch but a lot was happening and we slipped apart again. Two of them still send holiday cards. I never send holiday cards but I sure am glad to get theirs.
Most recently there have been several Facebook "reunions". People our age forming high school class groups on Facebook and inviting former classmates to join. I must get a few invitations each day to become a "friend" of____________. I often don't even remember who some these people were. Did I ever talk to them? Did they talk to me? I cannot locate a copy of my High School yearbook so I have a lot of diffculty responding to a friend request. What they heck, I never was that friendly anyway.
It's been the same with the other people who've found me. The initial rush. The flurry of emails or phone calls. And then we're done. It's a little bit like opening the door to your kid's room late at night just to hear the sound of their breathing. It's enough. It's just enough. Connections count. Especially now.
What does this mean: Respect that part of you...the part that needs to go back. In some strange way it is life affirming. It says "I still matter". It feels good to matter.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Hey Dude..you're going back to school
Do you just love it when someone asks you what your goal is? Well, I don't. I don't have goals - at least not in the classic sense. Having goals requires focus. My focus is myopic. My goal is usually to get through the day alive and content. But long term life goals...nope. This accounts, in part, for why I bounce all over the place. It may explain why I bore easily. Why I've married three times. Why I am always redecorating some room in my house. I don't know what I want and oddly I'm okay with that. I like to think of it (or justify it)as "living in the moment". After all everyone from Ekhardt Tolle to Deepak Chopra and even Oprah (unintentional rhyming) urges us to live in the moment. (Of course they also tell us to have a dream, make a vision board and imagine ourselves having already achieved the dream...but more about that some other day)
If I'm honest with myself (and I've been accused of being brutally honest) I think I avoid goals and dreams because they may not happen. If they don't happen I'll be bummed. And then my self-esteem will plummet. And then I'll have to explain why I failed. Sigh. That is what has always happened. I accept it.
In early 2003 I was growing weary of my post-corporate life in odd jobs. Clearly I did not have the personality (although I do have a great personality) to suffer fools well, I am not a patient woman. I am a middle-aged action figure who cannot understand how people stay stuck in their misery forever. If things aren't working, if you can't accept things as they are then MOVE ON. Where would this philosophy serve me best? AHA! I would become a therapist.
I had toyed with this idea years before. After all, I'd been in therapy more than I hadn't. My son was in therapy repeatedly. I knew the system. I knew where I would fit. I just had to do the work to get there. What was stopping me? Two things: Money and the GRE (that's the Graduate record Exam...like the SAT or the ACT but worse).
I had a fifty/fifty chance that I might be able to convince my husband to fund yet another career. I assembled my case. This was a great career, I reasoned, I could do it forever. It would help support us when we retired, etc. He bit (I think he was convinced by that retirement piece, he's a very practical man) One down.
The GRE would be a bigger challenge. I was never a good student. I was always distracted and unfocused. I ordered a transcript from my College. My grades were dismal. Here was that "permanent record" I'd always been warned about. It really existed!!!What to do? I would never pass a GRE. I am a poor test taker. I have minimal left brain function and therefore no mathematical or logic abilities. BUT in the great world of education there was an answer to my prayer. I found a University that did not require the GRE for its Professional Counseling Program! Whoopee! They gave me "credit" for my successful career, overlooked my embarassing college grades and accepted me "conditionally". I WAS IN! (In retrospect, I know that for a non-traditional student paying with cash - they would have accepted a serial killer)
I used to hate school. As an undergraduate I skipped more classes than I attended. I did a lot of "special projects" to pass. I charmed my way through as best I could. (I doubted that my instructors/professors would find me charming at this phase in my life) How was this going to work? I hadn't been in school for a trillion years. But,you know what - it worked great! Maybe it's being older, maybe it's because I wanted to be there..who knows. I maintained a 4.0 for three years. No problem. Well at least not in the grade part.
Hear me. Listen up. The schools aren't going to be totally honest with you about your chosen new profession. They need you. You must know what you are getting into. I thought I did. My best friend was a therapist. I had my own therapist. I'd read the State requirements. I knew I would need 900 internship hours during school and 3000 practice hours after graduation to get my license. It would take a while but I would get there. Or would I?
(You see where this is heading don't you?)
Somewhere early in my final year one of my professors spilled the beans. Most of us were already well into our internships and looking forward to the first 'real job". We were unprepared for what we were about to hear. "How many of you are aware, "he asked ever so casually, "that actually getting your 3000 hours will be next to impossible?" (Huh? What did he say? )He continued, "Used to be easy to get the hours. You could always get hired by a clinic and take care of the Title 19 clients. But everything has changed. Title 19 will no longer pay for an unlicensed therapist...even if you have your training license. They will only reimburse for fully licensed professionals. I'm sure you already know that no insurance company will reimburse for your time either. It's going to be tough. Just thought you should know."
Well, this was a real ball-buster. I knew the market was tough - I just hadn't known why. According to an unnamed woman at the State Department of Regulation and Licensing, a whole bunch of changes had come down during the time I was in school. These changes favored Social Workers (they have an amazing lobby) and pretty much locked-out Professional Counselors. Our only hope for ever achieving licensure was to find clinics that did a lot of grant work - primarily with Drug & Alcohol (which required additional education, testing and practice).
FORTUNATELY (I occasionally have good fortune) I had already received my basic Drug & Alcohol credentials - at least enough to get me through my internship and to the 3000 hours...but not enough to get that license. I would have to take more classes, post post graduate in order to be even a Substance Abuse Counselor. I did not want to be a substance abuse counselor. I wanted to work with neurotic middle aged women. Not drunks and druggies. My son had drug issues and I didn't need any more experience in that field.
So $24,000 later, degree in hand (I skipped going to my graduation in the off chance that I might shoot my advisor) I left my graduate school days behind and walked directionless into the future. What would it hold? Would I be lucky? Would I catch a break? Would I ever get a license? Would the Democrats ever regain power (sorry)? And what had I learned?
This is what I learned: Going back to school midlife is a kick. You aren't the same person you were at 18. You can do. You will make amazing friends of all ages. You will feel young and full of potential. But make sure you know everything you need to know about the field you've chosen. I mean everything. And grill your advisor...he or she has some responsibility to keep up to date on any changes in regulation or licensing that may affect you. Good luck - you may need it.
If I'm honest with myself (and I've been accused of being brutally honest) I think I avoid goals and dreams because they may not happen. If they don't happen I'll be bummed. And then my self-esteem will plummet. And then I'll have to explain why I failed. Sigh. That is what has always happened. I accept it.
In early 2003 I was growing weary of my post-corporate life in odd jobs. Clearly I did not have the personality (although I do have a great personality) to suffer fools well, I am not a patient woman. I am a middle-aged action figure who cannot understand how people stay stuck in their misery forever. If things aren't working, if you can't accept things as they are then MOVE ON. Where would this philosophy serve me best? AHA! I would become a therapist.
I had toyed with this idea years before. After all, I'd been in therapy more than I hadn't. My son was in therapy repeatedly. I knew the system. I knew where I would fit. I just had to do the work to get there. What was stopping me? Two things: Money and the GRE (that's the Graduate record Exam...like the SAT or the ACT but worse).
I had a fifty/fifty chance that I might be able to convince my husband to fund yet another career. I assembled my case. This was a great career, I reasoned, I could do it forever. It would help support us when we retired, etc. He bit (I think he was convinced by that retirement piece, he's a very practical man) One down.
The GRE would be a bigger challenge. I was never a good student. I was always distracted and unfocused. I ordered a transcript from my College. My grades were dismal. Here was that "permanent record" I'd always been warned about. It really existed!!!What to do? I would never pass a GRE. I am a poor test taker. I have minimal left brain function and therefore no mathematical or logic abilities. BUT in the great world of education there was an answer to my prayer. I found a University that did not require the GRE for its Professional Counseling Program! Whoopee! They gave me "credit" for my successful career, overlooked my embarassing college grades and accepted me "conditionally". I WAS IN! (In retrospect, I know that for a non-traditional student paying with cash - they would have accepted a serial killer)
I used to hate school. As an undergraduate I skipped more classes than I attended. I did a lot of "special projects" to pass. I charmed my way through as best I could. (I doubted that my instructors/professors would find me charming at this phase in my life) How was this going to work? I hadn't been in school for a trillion years. But,you know what - it worked great! Maybe it's being older, maybe it's because I wanted to be there..who knows. I maintained a 4.0 for three years. No problem. Well at least not in the grade part.
Hear me. Listen up. The schools aren't going to be totally honest with you about your chosen new profession. They need you. You must know what you are getting into. I thought I did. My best friend was a therapist. I had my own therapist. I'd read the State requirements. I knew I would need 900 internship hours during school and 3000 practice hours after graduation to get my license. It would take a while but I would get there. Or would I?
(You see where this is heading don't you?)
Somewhere early in my final year one of my professors spilled the beans. Most of us were already well into our internships and looking forward to the first 'real job". We were unprepared for what we were about to hear. "How many of you are aware, "he asked ever so casually, "that actually getting your 3000 hours will be next to impossible?" (Huh? What did he say? )He continued, "Used to be easy to get the hours. You could always get hired by a clinic and take care of the Title 19 clients. But everything has changed. Title 19 will no longer pay for an unlicensed therapist...even if you have your training license. They will only reimburse for fully licensed professionals. I'm sure you already know that no insurance company will reimburse for your time either. It's going to be tough. Just thought you should know."
Well, this was a real ball-buster. I knew the market was tough - I just hadn't known why. According to an unnamed woman at the State Department of Regulation and Licensing, a whole bunch of changes had come down during the time I was in school. These changes favored Social Workers (they have an amazing lobby) and pretty much locked-out Professional Counselors. Our only hope for ever achieving licensure was to find clinics that did a lot of grant work - primarily with Drug & Alcohol (which required additional education, testing and practice).
FORTUNATELY (I occasionally have good fortune) I had already received my basic Drug & Alcohol credentials - at least enough to get me through my internship and to the 3000 hours...but not enough to get that license. I would have to take more classes, post post graduate in order to be even a Substance Abuse Counselor. I did not want to be a substance abuse counselor. I wanted to work with neurotic middle aged women. Not drunks and druggies. My son had drug issues and I didn't need any more experience in that field.
So $24,000 later, degree in hand (I skipped going to my graduation in the off chance that I might shoot my advisor) I left my graduate school days behind and walked directionless into the future. What would it hold? Would I be lucky? Would I catch a break? Would I ever get a license? Would the Democrats ever regain power (sorry)? And what had I learned?
This is what I learned: Going back to school midlife is a kick. You aren't the same person you were at 18. You can do. You will make amazing friends of all ages. You will feel young and full of potential. But make sure you know everything you need to know about the field you've chosen. I mean everything. And grill your advisor...he or she has some responsibility to keep up to date on any changes in regulation or licensing that may affect you. Good luck - you may need it.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I have one word....plastics.
While wrestling with what I wanted to be when I grew up and enduring a multitude of wrong-for-me jobs, I discovered that there were other challenges in midlife. One of them was my changing face. I'm not sure exactly when I realized that I was showing the dreaded "signs of aging" but when I could no longer ignore them I panicked. Who WAS that woman in the mirror? Was there something wrong with my mirror? "Mirror, mirror on the wall, where is that cute, perky girl who was carded until she was 35?" "Beats me," replied my mirror. "it sure as hell isn't you."
Many years ago when my Mom turned 60 and was lamenting her age and facial challenges I confronted her. "Mom,get over it. Age gracefully. Stop panicking. You look great." I assured her that cosmetic surgery was not an option. She looked fabulous. And yet, here I was poking at my crumbling face and thinking and saying the same things she'd said. If she were here she would no doubt be reminding me of our former conversation. In that sense, I'm glad she's not here.
I have the advantage of living in a cold climate. While cold and refrigeration both help meat last longer they don't contribute much to faces. BUT, they do offer one saving grace - turtlenecks. You can wear turtlenecks from October through April and your neck issues are hidden. This is good. You can't wear a turtleneck in the summer but you can let your hair grow longer and bury a basketful of sagging skin in a curtain of hair. At least I could. But what about my face? What were those deepening lines on the sides of my mouth...and those little lines on my lips. Oh G-d I wish I'd never been a smoker!
Cosmetic surgery is not an option. I am a coward. No one is putting a scalpel to my face and no one is going to make me look like Mickey Rourke or Meg Ryan. I don't want to look like I'm riding in a car going 90 miles an hour with my face stretched and plastered to my skull by the wind. No sir. Not me. I'd figure out something else to do.
So I did. I told my husband that for our anniversary I wanted Restalyne. Restalyne is a facial filler that is injected into deep lines to plump them up. It's expensive - but no where near as expensive as surgical procedures. It lasts uo to six months. Think how happy I'd be for six months!! My husband is a good guy so I got the green flag.
I did everything right. I researched the best physicians, I read everything I could about the product, I scanned testimonials from men and women who had been "filled". It looked good. I did, however, fail to consider that not much was going well in my life and that maybe my life energy needed to get turned around before I did anything more. But, this was before I'd begun my spiritual quest so I didn't really consider my energy, my aura or even my damned bad luck.
I scheduled a consultation visit with a cosmetic physician. I was pumped. During the visit she and her nurse explained the procedure and all of my options. So far, so good. "Let's do it!" I cried. The nurse left the room to retrieve the numbing agent. She returned with several hypodermic needles full of a yellowish substance which turned out to be novocaine. This was my first red, no make that yellow, flag. Novocaine does not always work on me.
She injected me under my lip the same way a dentist would if he were filling a front tooth. We waited. And waited. I felt a little numb but not in the right place. She injected more. And more. And we waited. My heart was thumping (novocaine contains adrenaline) but my face was fine. It stayed fine. Nothing changed. the nurse was frantic. This had never happened before. (This should have been my next clue to stop) She left to get the doctor. The doctor was cool about it. She offered me other numbing agents but I declined noting that I already had about a gallon of novocaine under my lip and doubted that there was room for much more...not to dismiss the fact that my heart was on an adrenaline high like nothing I'd ever experienced.
Then bravely (or stupidly, you choose) I declared, "Go ahead and do it anyway. Inject the Restalyne without the anesthesia." She pursed her lips, looked directly into my eyes and said, "It will hurt. A lot."
Still brave and stupid I replied, "I don't care - the pain can't last forever. Just do it."
So she did.
Oh My God. Burning. Stinging, Searing pain. And that was just the first few minutes. It got worse when she hit my lips. Several times the doctor asked me if I wanted her to stop (Oh yea, that would be nice..I'd be lopsided) With tears streaming down my face and my hands permanently welded to the arms of the chair I persisted. "Keep going!" She did. The entire procedure took five or six minutes...in Biblical time it would have been seven days (it felt like seven days).
If you know anything about how nice it feels when something painful stops hurting, you can imagine my relief when the pain ended. Now I had red, lumpy smile lines and a swollen upper lip. They gave me an ice pack and sent me home.
Over the next few days, as the swelling subsided I saw a whole new me. "You look great!" said my husband (like he had a real choice to say anything else). My friends said I looked "rested".
I felt really hot. In five pain-wracked minutes ten years had faded away. What joy! I wondered (briefly) whether I could get away with wearing a mini-skirt?would I get carded again ?(well, maybe if I wore my turtleneck and gloves to hide my age spots).
Three weeks later, when gazing into my visage in my bathroom mirror I thought that maybe the now filled-in deep creases were coming back. This could not be. This product was supposed to last "up to six months" not up to three weeks. I spent the next few days checking and re-checking my face. And each look told the same story...my fill-up had fouled up. The stuff was disappearing. I was returning to my old face. By the beginning of week four there was no more doubt. I was fully me once again.
Frantically I called my Doctor and scheduled an appointment. I also called the Restalyne folks who were sympathetic but unmoved. "This can happen," said a man on the other end of the phone, "usually in less than 1% of the people." Well, I asked, what can you do about it???? Why don't you say that in your literature? "Well what you do is between you and your doctor." WHAT!!! No refund? No "I'm sorry"...nothing???? "This will be reported to the FDA as an adverse event," he said calmly. Adverse my ass - my little event cost $550 and it was gone.
I had no better success with my Doctor. She agreed the filler had flown...then discussed other products (more costly)I might use in the future. She even took my picture. No refund. No apology. Nothing.I took my deep laugh lines, tucked my tail between my legs, and went home.
The lesson here: Age gracefully. Accept your fate. Look at your Mom...that's your future. deal with it.
Many years ago when my Mom turned 60 and was lamenting her age and facial challenges I confronted her. "Mom,get over it. Age gracefully. Stop panicking. You look great." I assured her that cosmetic surgery was not an option. She looked fabulous. And yet, here I was poking at my crumbling face and thinking and saying the same things she'd said. If she were here she would no doubt be reminding me of our former conversation. In that sense, I'm glad she's not here.
I have the advantage of living in a cold climate. While cold and refrigeration both help meat last longer they don't contribute much to faces. BUT, they do offer one saving grace - turtlenecks. You can wear turtlenecks from October through April and your neck issues are hidden. This is good. You can't wear a turtleneck in the summer but you can let your hair grow longer and bury a basketful of sagging skin in a curtain of hair. At least I could. But what about my face? What were those deepening lines on the sides of my mouth...and those little lines on my lips. Oh G-d I wish I'd never been a smoker!
Cosmetic surgery is not an option. I am a coward. No one is putting a scalpel to my face and no one is going to make me look like Mickey Rourke or Meg Ryan. I don't want to look like I'm riding in a car going 90 miles an hour with my face stretched and plastered to my skull by the wind. No sir. Not me. I'd figure out something else to do.
So I did. I told my husband that for our anniversary I wanted Restalyne. Restalyne is a facial filler that is injected into deep lines to plump them up. It's expensive - but no where near as expensive as surgical procedures. It lasts uo to six months. Think how happy I'd be for six months!! My husband is a good guy so I got the green flag.
I did everything right. I researched the best physicians, I read everything I could about the product, I scanned testimonials from men and women who had been "filled". It looked good. I did, however, fail to consider that not much was going well in my life and that maybe my life energy needed to get turned around before I did anything more. But, this was before I'd begun my spiritual quest so I didn't really consider my energy, my aura or even my damned bad luck.
I scheduled a consultation visit with a cosmetic physician. I was pumped. During the visit she and her nurse explained the procedure and all of my options. So far, so good. "Let's do it!" I cried. The nurse left the room to retrieve the numbing agent. She returned with several hypodermic needles full of a yellowish substance which turned out to be novocaine. This was my first red, no make that yellow, flag. Novocaine does not always work on me.
She injected me under my lip the same way a dentist would if he were filling a front tooth. We waited. And waited. I felt a little numb but not in the right place. She injected more. And more. And we waited. My heart was thumping (novocaine contains adrenaline) but my face was fine. It stayed fine. Nothing changed. the nurse was frantic. This had never happened before. (This should have been my next clue to stop) She left to get the doctor. The doctor was cool about it. She offered me other numbing agents but I declined noting that I already had about a gallon of novocaine under my lip and doubted that there was room for much more...not to dismiss the fact that my heart was on an adrenaline high like nothing I'd ever experienced.
Then bravely (or stupidly, you choose) I declared, "Go ahead and do it anyway. Inject the Restalyne without the anesthesia." She pursed her lips, looked directly into my eyes and said, "It will hurt. A lot."
Still brave and stupid I replied, "I don't care - the pain can't last forever. Just do it."
So she did.
Oh My God. Burning. Stinging, Searing pain. And that was just the first few minutes. It got worse when she hit my lips. Several times the doctor asked me if I wanted her to stop (Oh yea, that would be nice..I'd be lopsided) With tears streaming down my face and my hands permanently welded to the arms of the chair I persisted. "Keep going!" She did. The entire procedure took five or six minutes...in Biblical time it would have been seven days (it felt like seven days).
If you know anything about how nice it feels when something painful stops hurting, you can imagine my relief when the pain ended. Now I had red, lumpy smile lines and a swollen upper lip. They gave me an ice pack and sent me home.
Over the next few days, as the swelling subsided I saw a whole new me. "You look great!" said my husband (like he had a real choice to say anything else). My friends said I looked "rested".
I felt really hot. In five pain-wracked minutes ten years had faded away. What joy! I wondered (briefly) whether I could get away with wearing a mini-skirt?would I get carded again ?(well, maybe if I wore my turtleneck and gloves to hide my age spots).
Three weeks later, when gazing into my visage in my bathroom mirror I thought that maybe the now filled-in deep creases were coming back. This could not be. This product was supposed to last "up to six months" not up to three weeks. I spent the next few days checking and re-checking my face. And each look told the same story...my fill-up had fouled up. The stuff was disappearing. I was returning to my old face. By the beginning of week four there was no more doubt. I was fully me once again.
Frantically I called my Doctor and scheduled an appointment. I also called the Restalyne folks who were sympathetic but unmoved. "This can happen," said a man on the other end of the phone, "usually in less than 1% of the people." Well, I asked, what can you do about it???? Why don't you say that in your literature? "Well what you do is between you and your doctor." WHAT!!! No refund? No "I'm sorry"...nothing???? "This will be reported to the FDA as an adverse event," he said calmly. Adverse my ass - my little event cost $550 and it was gone.
I had no better success with my Doctor. She agreed the filler had flown...then discussed other products (more costly)I might use in the future. She even took my picture. No refund. No apology. Nothing.I took my deep laugh lines, tucked my tail between my legs, and went home.
The lesson here: Age gracefully. Accept your fate. Look at your Mom...that's your future. deal with it.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Trying on New Careers...A quick way to discover who you aren't
There is much to be said about switching careers in midlife. Most of the truly prolific advice is emblazoned on t-shirts, coffee mugs and bumper stickers. For me, midlife career changing is at best, an adventure, at worst like dancing with a rattlesnake. In order to live you've gotta keep moving, be aware of your surroundings and trust your instincts. Unable to distinguish my instincts from random ego-based thoughts (read Eckhardt Tolle if this makes no sense) I have frequently discounted my own intuition and forged ahead into the wilderness.
After a less than satisfying run at being an Esthetician (where I learned that waxing is repulsive and sales is disingenuous) I stumbled into the most "oh thats not me" job I've ever had. I worked in a bridal shop.
Let me explain that I have been married three times (still maried to number three). In all those marriages I have never had a traditional wedding. I am not a traditional girl. I have always failed to understand why this "special day' merits such attention, expense and energy. So how did I end up at one of the toniest bridal salons in my area? Because I'm a nice person. (no, really. I am)
Back when I was a Esthetician I had a young client whom I really enjoyed seeing. Turns out that this young woman's Mom owned a nearby bridal shop. One afternoon, while I was skillfully applying a facial mask to her perfect twenty-something skin she said, "You ought to come and work for my Mom." I laughed. "No really" she persisted, "you'd be great. You have such a great personality and my Mom needs help. blah blah blah." Again I laughed. "Give me your phone number, " she said, "I'll have her call you. You're leaving this salon soon...it would be perfect."
I gave her the number. What was I thinking????
Two weeks later I was sitting face-to-face with Mom, a formidible business woman, impeccably dressed and also sporting a "great personality". She loved me. She loved me despite my candid comments like, "The only wedding experience I've ever had is getting married three times." and
"I don't think I could tolerate a roomful of babbling brides-to-be.". And even, "I cannot see myself being good at this. I suck at sales." She wanted me. I had a "great personality". I took the job.
Let me say that working in a bridal shop requires the physical stamina of a longshoreman and the patience of Mother Theresa. I had neither. So, armed with my "great personality" and not much else, I learned the questions to ask the brides, I learned how to re-direct them when they wanted something we didn't carry, I learned to say, "The dress is $5000" without barfing. I muscled-up carrying dress after dress (hey they are heavy!!!) into fitting rooms. I stuffed size 12 women into size 8 sample dresses and used large industrial clips to make a size 8 dress look good on a size 2 body. I sweated. My back hurt. My fingertips ached from pinning and unpinning heavy fabric. Oh yea...this was not good.
I also learned to loathe brides, bridesmaids and mothers of the bride. Something happens to women in a bridal shop. Something awful. Because this job preceeded the now ubiquitous bridal shows we currently have on television (e.g. Bridzillas) I had no frame of reference. I was totally unprepared for the ugliness. And it was ugly. Add to this the wealthy women who frequented the store for its line of designer evening wear. Rich, empty women with attitude and far too much money. I was so out of my comfort zone. Nothing good was going to come from this...I could feel it in my bones.
The day it all came crashing down for me began with a wealthy women who had been in the shop no fewer that six times in the preceeding two weeks. Each time we tried on the same outfits. Each time she hemmed and hawed about "not being sure". I concluded silently that she needed a real life. My annoyance grew. So did my impatience. I could sense that I was reaching my point of no return. The edge in my voice was growing stronger. My face was no longer blank...it was defiant. There was no way my great personality would save me. I believe I finally said, "Look. You have been in here multiple times in the past weeks. You have tried and re-tried these dresses repeatedly. Obviously you do not know what you want or we don't have what you want. Why don't you look someplace else."
Not good. My boss called me at home that night and suggested that perhaps this was not the best place for me to work. I agreed. We mutually agreed that my career in Bridal sales was over.
I breathed a sigh of deep relief. Free at last.
The lesson here: When the voices in your head say "Don't do this." When you know that there is no way that you fit a particular job, LISTEN to yourself. How many learning experiences do you really need?
After a less than satisfying run at being an Esthetician (where I learned that waxing is repulsive and sales is disingenuous) I stumbled into the most "oh thats not me" job I've ever had. I worked in a bridal shop.
Let me explain that I have been married three times (still maried to number three). In all those marriages I have never had a traditional wedding. I am not a traditional girl. I have always failed to understand why this "special day' merits such attention, expense and energy. So how did I end up at one of the toniest bridal salons in my area? Because I'm a nice person. (no, really. I am)
Back when I was a Esthetician I had a young client whom I really enjoyed seeing. Turns out that this young woman's Mom owned a nearby bridal shop. One afternoon, while I was skillfully applying a facial mask to her perfect twenty-something skin she said, "You ought to come and work for my Mom." I laughed. "No really" she persisted, "you'd be great. You have such a great personality and my Mom needs help. blah blah blah." Again I laughed. "Give me your phone number, " she said, "I'll have her call you. You're leaving this salon soon...it would be perfect."
I gave her the number. What was I thinking????
Two weeks later I was sitting face-to-face with Mom, a formidible business woman, impeccably dressed and also sporting a "great personality". She loved me. She loved me despite my candid comments like, "The only wedding experience I've ever had is getting married three times." and
"I don't think I could tolerate a roomful of babbling brides-to-be.". And even, "I cannot see myself being good at this. I suck at sales." She wanted me. I had a "great personality". I took the job.
Let me say that working in a bridal shop requires the physical stamina of a longshoreman and the patience of Mother Theresa. I had neither. So, armed with my "great personality" and not much else, I learned the questions to ask the brides, I learned how to re-direct them when they wanted something we didn't carry, I learned to say, "The dress is $5000" without barfing. I muscled-up carrying dress after dress (hey they are heavy!!!) into fitting rooms. I stuffed size 12 women into size 8 sample dresses and used large industrial clips to make a size 8 dress look good on a size 2 body. I sweated. My back hurt. My fingertips ached from pinning and unpinning heavy fabric. Oh yea...this was not good.
I also learned to loathe brides, bridesmaids and mothers of the bride. Something happens to women in a bridal shop. Something awful. Because this job preceeded the now ubiquitous bridal shows we currently have on television (e.g. Bridzillas) I had no frame of reference. I was totally unprepared for the ugliness. And it was ugly. Add to this the wealthy women who frequented the store for its line of designer evening wear. Rich, empty women with attitude and far too much money. I was so out of my comfort zone. Nothing good was going to come from this...I could feel it in my bones.
The day it all came crashing down for me began with a wealthy women who had been in the shop no fewer that six times in the preceeding two weeks. Each time we tried on the same outfits. Each time she hemmed and hawed about "not being sure". I concluded silently that she needed a real life. My annoyance grew. So did my impatience. I could sense that I was reaching my point of no return. The edge in my voice was growing stronger. My face was no longer blank...it was defiant. There was no way my great personality would save me. I believe I finally said, "Look. You have been in here multiple times in the past weeks. You have tried and re-tried these dresses repeatedly. Obviously you do not know what you want or we don't have what you want. Why don't you look someplace else."
Not good. My boss called me at home that night and suggested that perhaps this was not the best place for me to work. I agreed. We mutually agreed that my career in Bridal sales was over.
I breathed a sigh of deep relief. Free at last.
The lesson here: When the voices in your head say "Don't do this." When you know that there is no way that you fit a particular job, LISTEN to yourself. How many learning experiences do you really need?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Changing Careers in Midlife...What, me worry?
After 17 years as the Director of Marketing and Public Relations at an area hospital .I was burned out. Finished. Simply could not endure another corporate reorganization or strategic planning session or anything that had a vague odor of corporate America. This was healthcare, not Wall Street. Whatever happened to caring for people? I was living in a community where corporatized hospitals had become systems and the systems were complex and crazy. It was all about competition. ("That's my appendix! No, it's mine, I saw it first...") My job was to sell, sell, sell and plan to out strategize the other guy...to win at almost any cost. (Do you see anything about healthcare in that last sentence? Me neither.) One day it hit me - I could no longer do this. There was no satisfaction at any level. I had just turned 50 and I was not going to die on the job. In the larger scheme of things what I was doing was meaningless. And at 50 you begin to think about how your life has been meaningful and what you have contributed to make the world a better place. I had ad campaigns,40 page marketing plans and ongoing battles with two bosses who were rivals. Meaningful? Not so much.
With my husband's support ("Do it," he said silently considering the 50% reduction in our income.) So I did.I quit. I vowed to never work in corporate America again. (I also vowed to spend less and cook often...) I would find an easy, peaceful job where I could work one-on-one with real people. I considered selling ribbon at a fabric store because it sounded so simple ("How many yards? Thank you. Have a nice day.") but I knew I would last maybe seven minutes. I suck at measuring and ribbon cutting isn't meaningful unless it's a Grand Opening or something like that.
Then it hit me. I would go to school and become an Esthetician! I loved getting facials - so it only followed that I would love getting facials. Ta daa! I enrolled - certain that I would be the only old lady in the class. Wrong. There were several of us...all looking for the same thing. No stress.
"School" was easy. I had fun, made new friends and was sure I had made the right choice. Then came the class on waxing. I do not get waxed. I use a razor. I cannot understand the attraction to having hot goo spread on my legs (or bikini line or underarms) and then having someone literally rip and pull out my hair. Ugh! I hated it. I also sucked at doing it. The ONLY part I enjoyed was facial waxing. Buh bye moustache. So long unibrow. Facial waxing made sense. Body waxing didn't. It still doesn't. Forget those things they tell you about waxing - none of them are true. It does NOT inhibit or slow down hair growth. Lies lies. And it hurts like hell.
I worked in two salons over a two year period. In that time I discovered that without waxing an Estheticians day is long and dull. I was a great facialist but I wouldn't wax body parts. It affected my income. The other bad thing about this job...sales. At least fifty percent of an Esthetician's pay comes from selling over-priced mediocre facial products. You have to push this stuff to make money. I, unfortunately, have personal ethics. I could not in good conscience try to convince anyone to spend $200 on 5 products when one would be sufficient. I would pick and choose products I thought they would benefit from and downplay the rest. I was - and still am - a lousy sales person. But I can sleep at night.
With an aversion to bikini, leg and underarm waxing and a desire to prevent people from wasting money on high-priced products, I concluded that being an Esthetician was not for me.
But...there was one aspect of the job that provided a clue to a possible next career. People would lie on my facial table and pour out their problems. I listened, asked questions and in time had several clients who came to me for a facial - but mainly to talk about their lives. Could I, should I become a therapist I wondered. Hmm.
The lesson of this experience: Before you jump into any new profession spend a lot of time exploring the facets of the job. Know what you are getting into. Ask questions. Be smart, go slow, and choose wisely.
With my husband's support ("Do it," he said silently considering the 50% reduction in our income.) So I did.I quit. I vowed to never work in corporate America again. (I also vowed to spend less and cook often...) I would find an easy, peaceful job where I could work one-on-one with real people. I considered selling ribbon at a fabric store because it sounded so simple ("How many yards? Thank you. Have a nice day.") but I knew I would last maybe seven minutes. I suck at measuring and ribbon cutting isn't meaningful unless it's a Grand Opening or something like that.
Then it hit me. I would go to school and become an Esthetician! I loved getting facials - so it only followed that I would love getting facials. Ta daa! I enrolled - certain that I would be the only old lady in the class. Wrong. There were several of us...all looking for the same thing. No stress.
"School" was easy. I had fun, made new friends and was sure I had made the right choice. Then came the class on waxing. I do not get waxed. I use a razor. I cannot understand the attraction to having hot goo spread on my legs (or bikini line or underarms) and then having someone literally rip and pull out my hair. Ugh! I hated it. I also sucked at doing it. The ONLY part I enjoyed was facial waxing. Buh bye moustache. So long unibrow. Facial waxing made sense. Body waxing didn't. It still doesn't. Forget those things they tell you about waxing - none of them are true. It does NOT inhibit or slow down hair growth. Lies lies. And it hurts like hell.
I worked in two salons over a two year period. In that time I discovered that without waxing an Estheticians day is long and dull. I was a great facialist but I wouldn't wax body parts. It affected my income. The other bad thing about this job...sales. At least fifty percent of an Esthetician's pay comes from selling over-priced mediocre facial products. You have to push this stuff to make money. I, unfortunately, have personal ethics. I could not in good conscience try to convince anyone to spend $200 on 5 products when one would be sufficient. I would pick and choose products I thought they would benefit from and downplay the rest. I was - and still am - a lousy sales person. But I can sleep at night.
With an aversion to bikini, leg and underarm waxing and a desire to prevent people from wasting money on high-priced products, I concluded that being an Esthetician was not for me.
But...there was one aspect of the job that provided a clue to a possible next career. People would lie on my facial table and pour out their problems. I listened, asked questions and in time had several clients who came to me for a facial - but mainly to talk about their lives. Could I, should I become a therapist I wondered. Hmm.
The lesson of this experience: Before you jump into any new profession spend a lot of time exploring the facets of the job. Know what you are getting into. Ask questions. Be smart, go slow, and choose wisely.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
The Laws of Inaction..do something or rot
One of the cornerstones of reaching midlife is a nagging need to reinvent oneself. We no longer want to be "John's wife" or "Dustin's mom". ..we want desperately to find out who we are. And so we search. I know I did. Boy did I ever! And the search field is (to use an overworked word) GINORMOUS.
These searches are commonly referred to as "journeys" (a word I have personally come to loathe). We are inspired, often to the point of nausea, by Oprah, television features and magazine articles about midlife or later-life women who threw it all away ("it" often means a financially lucrative career) to pursue a dream. In the articles and TV shows these women always succeed. If you read or see enough of these inspirational stories one of two things will happen. You WILL be inspired to chase your dream or you will feel like a bigger loser because you aren't sure what your dream is. I fall into the latter category.
But to not try something, to not dig deeply into your psyche, to remain stuck in your old life is not good. It's safe, but not good. So many of us buy a journey ticket and jump on the train.
Some of us identify the right place to get off. Some of us get off at many stations and can't find a cab, so we jump back on and ride to the next station. It's not the stuff magazine articles are made of...but in my exploration of women's midlife journeys, it is the more common experience. So if you're still riding the train searching for Inspiration, USA or Dreamville, USA this blog is for you. Don't despair, fellow pilgrim. You're in good company.
Over the past years I have immersed myself in any number of spiritual, educational and self-help programs. Each time I had high hopes. But somehow...hmmm..I musta done something wrong, or without proper intention or without sincerity because I haven't found what I was looking for.....probably because I had (and still have) no idea what I was looking for. So I'm going to give you a peek at my "journey" (the last time I will use this word, I promise),share some wisdom, life observations, maybe offer some pointers I have picked up along the way. Welcome Aboard!!.
These searches are commonly referred to as "journeys" (a word I have personally come to loathe). We are inspired, often to the point of nausea, by Oprah, television features and magazine articles about midlife or later-life women who threw it all away ("it" often means a financially lucrative career) to pursue a dream. In the articles and TV shows these women always succeed. If you read or see enough of these inspirational stories one of two things will happen. You WILL be inspired to chase your dream or you will feel like a bigger loser because you aren't sure what your dream is. I fall into the latter category.
But to not try something, to not dig deeply into your psyche, to remain stuck in your old life is not good. It's safe, but not good. So many of us buy a journey ticket and jump on the train.
Some of us identify the right place to get off. Some of us get off at many stations and can't find a cab, so we jump back on and ride to the next station. It's not the stuff magazine articles are made of...but in my exploration of women's midlife journeys, it is the more common experience. So if you're still riding the train searching for Inspiration, USA or Dreamville, USA this blog is for you. Don't despair, fellow pilgrim. You're in good company.
Over the past years I have immersed myself in any number of spiritual, educational and self-help programs. Each time I had high hopes. But somehow...hmmm..I musta done something wrong, or without proper intention or without sincerity because I haven't found what I was looking for.....probably because I had (and still have) no idea what I was looking for. So I'm going to give you a peek at my "journey" (the last time I will use this word, I promise),share some wisdom, life observations, maybe offer some pointers I have picked up along the way. Welcome Aboard!!.
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