Alston: November 2005 Archives

I am not one to post lyrics, but I cried when I sang this song by the Waterboys this morning. Sometimes thinking about the realization of one's potential moves me terribly.

Man gets tired
Spirit don't
Man surrenders
Spirit won't
Man crawls
Spirit flies
Spirit lives when man dies
Man seems
Spirit is
Man dreams
The spirit lives
Man is tethered
Spirit is free
What spirit is man can be

I turned to Rose this morning after the song ended, tried to repeat the last line, but couldn't. It stuck in my throat. The next thing I knew there was a tear trying to roll down my face. I laughed to take the emotional edge off, but it only partly worked. I think she likes to see that from me once in a while. But no one really wants to see that regularly, do they? Luckily, I don't feel the need to act like a sensitive Sam all the time, or hardly ever, in fact.

What Spirit is, man can be. God, there's so MUCH in that little sentence! I love it. It makes me feel as though I can do anything while reminding me that I am not even close to achieving "IT", whatever "IT" is. Some call it nirvana, some call it "clear", some "peace". Many think that it does not happen in this mortal life. But maybe it can. I think that Rose believes so. Why be satisfied with seeming, and crawling and wishing when you could truly be?

Rose won me over a couple of weeks ago. She left me a voice message asking me to get her something to eat because there was nothing left at home. Her voice melted me. It touched my heart directly. I would have killed a wild animal for her that night just to see her smile at the feast that I had prepared for her. That's what it is often like. You can't follow a set path to someone's heart that works every time. At least not with me. It's almost random. I think about it often, though, and a lump forms in my throat at times. I smile, though no one that sees me understands why.

Rose knows what a lot about Spirit, I think, and this might be something that we both hold on to. It might be more important to us than either of us realized.

That is how I am feeling now after the dream I had two hours ago.

Longtime readers of the Scrawl may recall that I had a boss for four years that I called "Sylvie". He aggravated me to no end, yet I actually liked the guy, in the end. At that job, I was doing business development and lead generation (I should really edit this definition, because I am NOT marketing), as opposed to what I am doing now, which is purely sales. I haven't been doing lead gen since September 14, 2004, in fact. At Sylvie's company, ties were required except on Fridays. In the dream, all the executives were talking to major, and I mean MAJOR clients. Really important people. Sylvie was rushing around trying to ready the room for the day-long meeting that was to follow. I was there, not knowing what to do, dressed in a black T-shirt and pants, and unshaven. Sylvie was pissed off at me for some reason, and he had that look on his face that he used to have that pretty much said it all. The difference is that this time he said, out loud, but without looking at me:

"You are useless, and I don't know what you do around here. I wish you would just leave. You don't do anything!"

I was so ashamed. No one looked at me or acknowledged me with their eyes, which I suppose was a blessing. However, that may have meant that I was truly beneath notice. Not even worth their scorn.

When I woke up this morning, I felt awful. I've never felt as ridiculous and inadequate in a job as today. I'm over it now, but the memory lingers. Even when I left, I was feeling low and sad. I wonder what it means. I wonder if it even has anything to do with my job. I mean, I'm thinking of making a move within the company to something resembling project management. Maybe I am afraid that I will fail. But I've never really been afraid of that. Maybe I'm afraid of failure in my relationships, romantic or otherwise. Hell, maybe it means that it will be a mild winter. Or that it was just a dream, nothing more. Normally I am inclined to believe this, but this dream was a little different than most.

As promised, the photos of my teapot!

Special thanks go to all those who wished me a happy 31st, including Sadia and Paolo, who sent e-cards! And of course, Rose, for her gifts of tea and tolerance.

I just realized that today is the first birthday in three years in which I have had a job.

This past Saturday, Rose bought me the perfect birthday present. A teapot. But not just any teapot. Read about it. I'll post a picture of mine later today. It looks better than the one pictured here. Eventually, Rose and I will get a buffet with many different teas and have soirées de thé for our friends. I am very much looking forward to this. You might not understand, but this is probably the most thoughtful gift I've had in years. I am about to reveal a little-known fact about myself: I like teapots. When I told a friend of mine this, she responded with, "That's the gayest thing you've ever said." And she'd know, but feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

Later, I will post my most treasured memory from last year's birthday. It chokes me up so much that I can't even listen to it anymore. Hopefully I'll get another one this year.

By the way, I'm 31 today. Feel free to offer congratulations or condolences, as appropriate. Oh, and if you know of any non-alcoholic birthday specials, please let me know. I feel like spending some money, and it doesn't look as though there will be much booze involved this year.